


Never Settle For Less

by gravityinglass



Category: Aiden Grimshaw - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Freeform, Gen, I think that's it - Freeform, Lots of music discussions, M/M, Rockstar AU, a baby step into an adult scene (BABY STEP)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravityinglass/pseuds/gravityinglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is the new lead singer of The Diamond Rogue; he was picked by the record company to replace Aiden Grimshaw, the band's current lead singer. The problem? No one, not even the band, know who he is or what he looks like.<br/>The Diamond Rogue is a close-knit group forged through an X-Factor rejection and a searing, record breaking first album. To the public, they seem like best friends, but tensions are rising between Aiden Grimshaw and Harry Styles and the whole band has taken sides. Tired of the constant fighting, Aiden has decided to resign;  his replacement could either be a new bloke or Harry himself. As the band are understandably wary of a new member, they've made their opinion very clear: Harry is the only lead singer they'll accept.<br/>Sure of success, one of the label execs comes up with a plan: Louis will pose as a journalist along for the ride and get to know the band that way. If they don't click, Louis steps down and no one will ever be the wiser. If they click, he'll reveal himself and take his new position. It's not a bad plan and Louis agrees to it, joining The Diamond Rogue for their stadium tour. All is going well until Louis falls in love. Fuck. That wasn't supposed to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Settle For Less

**Author's Note:**

> Big Bang Round 2! This is my contribution, and I was paired up with the gorgeous Marta (lepomiere on tumblr and loppps3 on livejournal), who made a heading and six lovely pieces of art for this!!
> 
> The main things you need to remember when reading this are as follows: 1) One Direction and 5 Seconds of Summer are both rock bands with punk influences rather than the pop bands they are today, 2) I know nothing about backstage and tours so most of this is based on guesswork and a fuckton of google searching, and 3) it’s fiction. Don’t take it too seriously, don’t tweet it to anyone, and if I accidentally used your username and it offends you, let me know and I’ll fix the issue.
> 
> The anthems for this song that I played on constant repeat while writing this were “Call it All Home” by A Rocket to the Moon, “Someday, Somehow” by Every Avenue and “La La” by The Cab. Or, you know, the entirety of each of those bands discographies plus some All Time Low thrown into the mix.

When Louis had entered the competition to be The Diamond Rogue's new lead singer, he hadn't expected to make it even a single round. It had been a huge joke, since Stan had egged him on and Louis'd been lonely enough at his university to do it. It was boring there, now that Stan had left for some year-long internship and Hannah had moved to the States for school. He’d been filling his spare time with covers for youtube anyways: it wasn’t much harder to fill the basic application requirements.

On a free afternoon, he’d filmed himself singing the last song he’d gotten stuck in his head and sent it in along with the fairly perfunctory application (name, date of birth, short personal essay) and forgotten all about it.

Or he had, until he’d gotten a phone call asking him to come in and sing live in a callback round. Out of some morbid curiosity, he’d gone, sure he’d be rejected.

Fifteen competition rounds, eight application surveys and three personal interviews later, Louis was sitting in a record label's building, staring nervously at some exec named Harvey and desperately trying not to throw up.

He got the feeling it was going to be a losing battle.

“So, you’re Louis Tomlinson,” Harvey said. Louis wasn’t sure if Harvey was the heavyset man’s first or last name, and he was too nervous to ask.

“I am.” Louis fought the urge to fidget with his bracelet; he didn’t want appear nervous, even if he was.

“Good. How soon can you start? We need to get your contract set down as soon as possible with this tour coming up.”

Louis blinked. He’d been sure this was going to be a gentle let-down, and beyond that he was fairly certain there were to supposed be more interviews in this process; at the very least he was sure he was supposed to meet the band before signing a contract that would keep them together in the long term.

“I just finished my second term at the University of Manchester, but if I’m doing this I guess whenever?”

“You don’t sound confident,” Harvey took off his glasses and set them on the desk, next to the big rock with ‘nothing is carved into stone’ on it. Louis was eighty percent sure it was supposed to be ironic and thought provoking. At least it was better than the Newton’s Cradle all of his professors had. It certainly made more sense than the fifteen kilo wrench hanging on the wall behind Harvey’s head. “You need to be sure if you’re doing this.”

“I want it,” Louis explained, feeling like he was stumbling over his words and not saying what needed to be said. “I really, really want it. But. I’ve never met them? What if we don’t get on? And then everyone’s miserable, right? Isn’t that what happened with Grimshaw?”

Harvey rubbed at his eyes wearily, but he nodded in understanding.

"It's complicated. Aiden Grimshaw’s situation with The Diamond Rogue has always been a bit...odd. Aiden was another talent at the time they were first being signed, and we thought they'd merge well. Vocally, they did, but personally...well. It worked for awhile but everything went to hell about a year ago and now it’s nothing short of an unqualified _disaster_. It's part of the reason Aiden is resigning, because there's only so far you can go as a band when your lead singer is near-completely hated by every other member."

Louis swallowed nervously, because. Well, he’d known that, from what he’d seen on twitter and read in articles and heard during the application process, but hearing it from someone who’d put the band together and actually knew the participants…that made it feel a little more dangerously real. "And they want _me_?"

"I wouldn't say they _want_ you, per se. They just picked you as the least terrible option," Harvey said bluntly. Louis frowned. "They never saw photo or video of you, just heard your voice and read your interview transcripts. They decided your voice fit their sound the best and that you sounded the least horrible of all the applicants, so." Harvey shrugged. “You’re invited on board.”

Louis’ forehead furrowed in confusion. “But if Grimshaw didn’t work out because he’d been forced on them, why do you think I would?”

Harvey steepled his fingers. “Ah, _now_ he asks the interesting questions. On paper, it should work. Grimshaw utilizes his vocals in a way no one in the past lineup could, and you can fill that slot easily enough. You’ve got the vocal talent and enough on-stage charisma to carry you through. Styles presents the group as sexy and attainable, Payne keeps them together, Malik acts as a calming force so they don’t scubumb to the pressure of the rockstar culture, and Horan gets a crowd going like no one else. Oh, don’t give me that look, I’ve been in this industry for thirty years, I know exactly what the market is like.”

Louis _had_ been giving Harvey a confused look, so he supposed the last comment was entirely warranted. Granted, he hadn’t been confused over the band’s individual roles, he’d been confused over his own and how he’d fit if _Aiden Grimshaw_ hadn’t.

“So it would make sense if I met them first, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, no.” Harvey said bluntly. “The situation with Grimshaw is at the point where they’re refusing to take on a new lead singer. They’re putting Harry forward as their first choice for lead singer.”

“But you’re signing me anyways.”

Harvey nods. “You’re the kick the group needs to launch them into legendary status. Not just this superstars of the moment thing they’ve got going for them now, but The Beatles, The Who, ACDC, that level of fame. They could do it, but at this rate, they won’t.”

“Why me?” Louis asked. “What do I have that they don’t?”

“You impressed Simon Cowell,” Harvey told him, and Louis’ stomach dropped.

“I got kicked off during Judge’s Houses,” he said carefully. He hadn’t mentioned his failed X-Factor experience in the application process--he wondered how they’d figured that out. There was no way Simon Cowell had recognized him, was there? “I didn’t even get considered for groups.”

“You do realize Simon Cowell was on the panel who judged you for this competition, right?” Harvey said, grinning in a way that reminded Louis of the worst maths teacher in secondary, the one who liked having one up on the students. Louis got a sinking feeling in his stomach, feeling soundly like he’d been outmaneuvered. “He’s got a...knack, shall we say, for putting groups together.”

“Then why didn’t he, back then? Put me in a group, I mean.”

Harvey shrugged. “Simon Cowell has his own reasons for doing things. Now, are you ready to sign?”

Louis bit his lip, hesitated. “I want to meet them first,” he said, hoping it would result in more time for him to make a decision and half expecting to be kicked out for being stubborn.

“I thought you’d say that.” Harvey dropped a lanyard with a plastic ID card attached to it onto the desk. Louis picked it up and stared at the press pass, his audition photo staring back at him, along with his name, date of birth, height, weight, and apparent employer: Rolling Stone.

Louis stared at it, uncomprehending.

“I am an under-appreciated genius,” Harvey said conversationally. Louis’ stomach dropped as realization hit. “You’ll pose as a Rolling Stone journalist and get to know the band, and if you hit it off, great, you’ll sign a contract, join the tour officially, and everything goes great. If you don’t work out--which, let’s be honest here, no one thinks will happen--then they never knew who you were and you can go right back to being a university student, with no one the wiser.”

"What’ll happen if I don’t agree?" Louis fingered the pass, running his fingers over the photo. Reporter. He could do that, maybe. “If I say no, what happens to the band?”

"Then Harry steps up to be lead singer, but to be honest, we don't think he could handle it."

Louis stared incredulously at this large man, trying to figure out how the hell he could possibly think a band as close as that would accept Louis, of all people. "And you think _I_ can?"

"You've got a drama background," the exec said dismissively. "You can handle being onstage, and you've got a personality big enough you won't be drowned out by anyone else in the band. You don’t seem to get panic attacks when the pressure is on, and as far as I can tell, you’re a perfect fit personality-wise. You’re creative, you can play piano and you write songs. You’ll be fine.”

Harvey clapped his hands together, the booming sound echoing in the empty room. Louis jumped in his seat.

“Well! I’ve got a meeting to go to, but my assistant will get you all set up. You start tomorrow!”

Louis found himself ushered to his feet, his hand enthusiastically shaken, the press pass dropped around his neck, and then he was shoved out the door and knocked into a sympathetic looking young woman who introduced herself as Gianina and helped him fill out a small mountain of paperwork in triplicate. By the time he’d signed the last form (an NDA that would only come into effect should Louis not join The Diamond Rogue) and talked for half an hour with a rep from Rolling Stone who thought the whole situation was entirely hilarious but as long as they got an exclusive they didn’t mind, she was smiling at him knowingly.

“In over your head?” she asked as he hung up and stared at the completed forms in front of him with a blank stare.

“A little bit?”

She laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “Well, you’re done with the easy part. Only gets harder from here, love.”

Louis groaned and dropped his head down on the table. She smiled at him sympathetically. “Why did I think this was a good idea?”

“Global fame, getting to sing with sexy boys, free vocal training, designer clothes, girls throwing themselves at your feet?” she suggested. “Well. You’ll get there eventually. Now, here’s your packing list for the tour, your cover story--memorize it or there will be hell to pay--the list of songs you need to memorize and the secondary list of lyrics for general purposes, and the list of tour rules. Thought you were done with homework, didn’t you?”

Louis groaned and accepted the stack of papers. “I go home and do work now?”

“That is generally the definition of homework, yes.” Gianina smiled at him. “Relax. If you’re meant to do this, you’ll do fine. If you’re not, at least you’ll fail before the entire world sees you. Now go, you’ve got a _lot_ of work to do.”

\--

“What am I _doing_?” Louis complained into the phone, shuffling through the heaping pile of sheet music on his bed.

Stan stifled a laugh. “Well, I’d think you’re joining a world famous band, is what you’re doing.”

“You can’t tell anyone that, Stan, I’m serious.”

“I can tweet congrats on your new job, can’t I?” Stan snorted. “Well, I already did that, but. Seriously, Lou. I get how big a deal this is. M’not gonna betray your trust like that, ‘specially considering m’the one who dragged you into it.”

Louis flopped onto his back, ignoring the papers scattered around him. “Well, it’s either going to be pure fucking hell or it’ll be good, I guess.”

“Mate, you’re going to be on tour with _Harry Styles_ ,” Stan said, laughing at Louis’ pain. Rude. “You’ll be pulling all tour.”

“If I pull Harry Styles, you have full permission to shoot me in the face,” Louis replied. “Or, no, try to snap me out of the brainwashing. Rock stars aren’t my type.”

“Right, just heavily tattooed musicians,” Stan quipped. “It started out with,what, Cory, and the douchebag, what’s his face, Walter! And then last year, there was Matt and Kurt, wasn’t it? All Harry Styles wannabes. Face it, you have a type, Louis. Well, at least when they’re not Hannah.”

“I’m sure I can make friends with the guy I have to work with for the rest of ever,” Louis said. “I’m fairly certain I can manage not to fuck him, even.”

“Ah, right.” Stan sighed, and Louis could just imagine Stan, sprawled out on his own bed. It was a familiar image; they’d been friends since they were both in diapers, and Louis sometimes thought that if one of them were a girl, they’d have been some cliche boy-and-girl-next-door romance. But Stan’s into girls, and Louis was into boys who aren’t Stan, and they’d known each other far too long to change that. And besides, Louis had gotten the boy and girl next door romance with Hannah, and that had gone spectacularly to shit. “Well, did I tell you about me pulling Kate? The legs on her, lemme tell ya…”

Louis let Stan talk, and wondered if this would be the last night of life as he knew it.

\--

 **@tommotwister** : I don’t know what i’ve gotten myself into, but here’s hoping it works out...

\--

Louis stared at the big warehouse building when the car pulled to a stop.

“You’re sure this is the right spot?” he asked the driver, skepticism heavy in his voice.

The heavyset man shrugged. “Rehearsals are in there, and Ms Calder should be out in a few to collect ya, ‘cording to Mr Harvey.”

“Oh, good.” Louis clambered out of the car and dragged his roller bag behind him, setting his laptop case neatly on top. “I was wondering if this was all a trick and I was going to be ritually sacrificed for good luck on the tour.”

The driver snorted. “Nah. That’s reserved for the last day of tour, as I understand it. A celebration that nothing went wrong. Collateral or something like it.” He paused. “If you don’t mind my asking, why’re you here for?” His eyes glinted dangerously. Louis knew it must look suspect, a young man showing up to rehearsals with no reason given, sent by the lead exec himself, right after a new lead singer had been announced. “You the new guy?”

“Uh, nothing interesting,” Louis said, lifting his press pass and showing it to the man. He chose to ignore the rather on-the-head question. “Writing an article, I s’pose. About the tour, so ‘m tagging along. Big news, apparently.” He shrugged as if to suggest he didn’t necessarily agree with that statement, hoping it covered his butterflies and nervous shakes.

The driver was startled into a laugh. “Yeah, guess so. Well, that’s Ms Calder there, so I’ll leave you with her.”

True enough, a brunette woman was walking briskly towards them. She talked with the driver for a few seconds. He pulled away, and she turned to talk to Louis.

“You’re Louis Tomlinson?” the brunette asked. She was on eye level with him, dressed neatly in a cardigan and black skirt, neon orange converse sneakers on her feet. She waited for him to nod and show his press pass before shaking his hand. “I’m Eleanor Calder. I’m in charge of keeping The Diamond Rogue in check on tour, and you’re apparently under my charge as well. Don’t make it difficult for me, I have the power to make your life miserable.”

Louis liked her already.

“I hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes,” she said, giving him an appraising look. Louis rather felt like he was undergoing some sort of full body scan for weapons and secrets; it felt like she might know everything in his pockets, from his iPhone all the way down to the half pack of winter fresh mint gum he’d absentmindedly shoved in his pocket that morning. “It’s a bit of a walk around here. No point in wearing nice shoes, or like, loafers that fall off.” She looked at his Toms and nodded, apparently satisfied. “Right, let’s drop your stuff off in the luggage pile and then I’ll introduce you to the boys if they’re not in the middle of a run through.”

She picked up his laptop case and let him drag his roller bag behind him. He grinned widely, a sense of excitement washing over him.

They made their way across a large parking lot; the early summer air in southern England was never hot but it wasn’t exactly cold either. Louis found himself wishing he’d opted for a slightly less tight pair of jeans and made a mental note to wear different trousers tomorrow, presuming he was still there. Eleanor led him through a side door and into a brightly lit cavernous room, where the solid concrete floor was marked up with colorful tape.

“They’re assembling the stage for a test run this afternoon,” Calder explained. “But until then, the boys are practicing their marks; the black tape marks the edge of the stage, and each boy has a color for where they need to be at various points, and where their mic stands will be. Aid’s blue, Liam’s got red, Niall’s green, Zayn’s orange, and Harry is, for whatever reason, hot Barbie pink.”

Louis snorted; that fit with what he’d heard about Harry Styles. “They’re not practicing now?”

“Mm, they will in a minute; I think they’re getting notes from the choreographer and the lighting people,” she gestured to the ceiling above them and the scaffolding that looked somewhere between precariously about to fall and mad genius laboratory levels of safe. Two figures in black were darting along the metal piping, adjusting the lights. Eleanor and Louis watched them for a solid minute, but soon the pair were scuttling down a ladder and the lights in the warehouse went out.

“Well, now they’re starting again,” Eleanor explained in the darkness. A softer orange light came from behind them; smaller floor lamps were lighting a sound booth and a lights booth, by the looks of it. Two stage lights flashed, as if a warning. A figure starkly outlined against the backdrop sat behind a drumset. “Oh, there goes Liam, the others shouldn’t be far behind.”

There was a whine of feedback and then a clatter of drums. The lights flashed brightly as four more forms made their way to glow in the dark tape markings.

“So that’s them,” Calder shouted, barely audible over the sudden guitar and drums. Louis vaguely recognized the song, but at the volume it was being played at, it was more than a little distorted. “Since they’re busy I’ll introduce you later. Come on, I’ll take you ‘round back, it’s quieter there.”

Louis watched the band perform out of the corner of his eye as he followed Calder out of the room; from what he could see, Niall Horan, Zayn Malik and Liam Payne really got into the music, but Aiden Grimshaw and Harry Styles looked like they were going through the motions and hating every second of it.

“Ah, that’s better,” Calder said as she shut the large steel door behind them. The noise level immediately dropped off to manageable levels.

They were in an overly furnished room that looked like it had once been some overseer’s office but now was stuffed full of the most random furniture. There were at least three sofas and a birdcage in the somewhat small space, crammed in with desks, tables, beanbags, papasan chairs, loveseats, armchairs and one very out of place dishwasher. Some items of furniture were stacked on top of each other just to fit, but for the most part the room looked like storage rather than a green room for a rock band.

One sofa in the far corner was piled high with suitcases, briefcases, backpacks and shopping bags. Calder put Louis’ laptop case down on top of the pile and gestured for him to put his roller bag there as well.

“That’s the band’s stuff going to the hotel tonight. That pile over there’s going into storage until we head out for tour in a week and a half. Since you’ll be travelling with the boys, we’ll put your stuff with theirs." She kicked off her shoes and sighed in relief, flopping down onto a bean bag wedged halfway underneath a yellow table painted with pink roses. “Make yourself comfortable, we’ll be here awhile.”

Louis gingerly sat on an overstuffed plaid armchair that appeared to possess no springs or internal support but did have a hell of a lot of padding and cushioning, as he sank a good seven inches into the seat. He had a feeling getting up would be difficult.

“Oh, that’s a good choice,” Calder said approvingly. “If you need to get up, grab the rope tied to the green sofa there. Sorry I can’t explain the sheer amount of furniture, it’s sort of an ongoing problem.”

Louis offered a smile and looked around the room; the walls were scribbled on with what looked to be either song lyrics or poetry in a variety of handwritings and colors, and the furniture was tightly packed to the point where reaching the wall probably made for a good game of the floor is lava. Eleanor rummaged through a laundry basket of plastic bottles next to her bean bag, pulling out two waters and throwing one at Louis. He caught it and took a sip as she pulled a plastic milk crate full of papers over and started rummaging through it.

“Right. I’m Eleanor Calder, as I said, and I suppose I’m assistant tour manager for The Diamond Rogue, although really, I’m just here to make sure they don’t accidentally kill each other in a fruit ninja related accident.”

Louis blinked at her in confusion. Calder waved her hands dismissively.

“Long story. I guess the best way to explain my job is that I’m their babysitter. The official tour manager is Paul, and he books gigs and gets them places on time. I make sure the boys don’t destroy anything too valuable, and if they do, it’s replaceable. I’ve got an assistant, Cameron, but...Cam’s not 100% sure what to do on tour. He’s new. It’s better to ask me if you’ve got questions.”

“So I guess you’re my supervisor, Ms Calder?” Louis aimed for polite; he lived by the logic that if you were unsure, fake it til you made it, but if you were with someone who could probably make your life living hell you should probably be polite.

Calder winced. “Don’t call me Ms Calder, it makes me feel old. Mrs Calder’s my mother, and I’d rather not get mistaken for her until I’m at least thirty. Call me Eleanor, and yeah, as I’m your babysitter too, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Alright then, Eleanor.” Louis offered a smile. For some reason, he wanted to be her friend.

“So, tour rules.” Eleanor tossed a manila envelope at Louis, which he barely managed to catch. “The whole list is in there, but most of it’s common sense. Just don’t die or cause any scandals, because I’m not paid to mop up after you. Although, you’re a journalist, you should know how not to get caught if you do chose to be an idiot.”

Louis snorted. “Yeah, sort of.”

“Okay, so.” Eleanor pushed aside the crate and settled in with her bottle of water. She took a long pull and made a face that suggested the water was not, in fact, water. Louis decided not to ask. “Explain to me why they picked _you_ for this tour?”

“What do you mean?” Louis replied, trying to decide if he should be offended or not.

“I mean, you’re a total rookie. I know all the Rolling Stone staff, or at least the ones that work with the rock musicians. I had an internship there my second year of uni,” she explained. “Granted, that was three years ago, but I still have friends there. I don’t know you, so why’d they pick you, of all people?”

Louis shrugged. “I was the only one they were willing to sacrifice long term,” he said. “We hear rumors you lot sacrifice your errant journalists at the end of tour as an offering to the gods of rock and roll.”

Eleanor snorted out a laugh. “We try not to sacrifice the journalists, it gives us a bad rep with the media. We usually go for the roadies who mess up, it keeps them adequately fearful enough not to make big mistakes.”

Louis laughed. “Well, to answer your question, I’m not part of the…rock department, I guess. But they sent me, so. I’m here, and I’ll do my best to follow tour rules.”

“You’d better!” Eleanor nodded firmly, setting down her water bottle. “So, we’ve got about an hour before the boys come trampling in here demanding to know who you are. What to do, what to do…” she clapped, the sound echoing in the room, a sudden wicked smile on her face instead of the gleeful grin from earlier. “Okay, I need to go through your social media sites. Usernames?”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to trust you?”

“Well, they do call me Mum when we’re on tour.” She raised an elegant eyebrow in turn, causing Louis to snort with laughter. “So I do have the power to ground you.”

“I fail to see how this relates to my Facebook.”

“I’m just making sure you don’t accidentally leak songs or photos we don’t want out yet,” she explained. “And I need to follow you on Twitter. I follow everyone on tour, it’s a bit of a thing.”

Louis handed over his usernames without further complaint. Once Eleanor had checked them all out, she grinned wickedly at him. “Fancy a game of two truths and a lie while we wait them out?”

Oh, she was going to be a good friend indeed.

\--

 **@eleanorjcalder:** welcome on board _@tommotwister_ please pick up your orientation manual at the front desk.

 **@tommotwister** : _@eleanorjcalder_ is there really an orientation manual??

 **@eleanorjcalder** : _@tommotwister_ you wish.

 **@rougered22** : _@eleanorjcalder_ is this the new guy???

 **@eleanorjcalder** : RT “@eleanorjcalder _is this the new guy????” @rougered22_ it’s A new guy…

\--

Harry was certain that tour rehearsals were a specific type of torture designed directly in the seventh circle of hell. He loved music, he loved performing, he loved the high of putting out music he’d written and worked on and polished until it was the best he could create, but he pointedly did not love eight straight hours of playing his guitar, moving around stage, and enduring the burning hot stage lights all while techies yelled at them to move six inches to the left or to adjust their in-ears by a notch or two. He didn’t have a problem with the reasoning behind practice, but he did get tired of adjusting his sound protection by one notch in one direction and then having to correct it two notches the other way because two of the sound engineers couldn’t agree on how it should be set.

No one would care as soon as tour actually started; then, the roadies adjusted and worked around the band, but rehearsals were where the techs had all the control and used it with no remorse.

“Did you see the guy El came in with?” Niall asked as they broke for water and yet another review of how best to improve. He set aside his guitar and dumped a water bottle over his head, then shook out his shaggy blond hair so water droplets sprayed everywhere. His white tank was soaked enough to make it translucent; Harry wasn’t sure if it was water or sweat making the fabric go sheer. “Is that the new guy?”

Liam shrugged. “I hope so; we haven’t got to practice with him and tour’s next week.”

Liam downed a bottle of water and wiped his forehead with a damp towel he’d tucked into his jeans' waistband; he’d abandoned his shirt at least one run-through ago and the tattoos that dappled over the round of his shoulder and down his left arm shone faintly with sweat. Liam had buzzed his hair off right before rehearsals started, making him probably the most intelligent of the band; the rest of them were still trying to find ways to keep sweaty, itchy hair off their necks and shoulders. Harry had resorted to headbands and pigtails, choosing to suffer through Miley Cyrus jokes and tabloids everywhere questioning his fashion choices rather than deal with the amount of sweat his hair caught during rehearsals.

“One, tour’s two weeks out. Two, the new guy’s not touring this time around,” Aiden said with exaggerated patience. He stripped off his shirt and swapped it out for a clean grey one, mussing his dark dirty hair even further. “We’ve been over this. Several times, even.”

“Shut up, Grimshaw,” Zayn snapped. Somehow he’d managed to stay relatively dry and less sweaty; no one knew how, no matter how much Harry begged for an explanation. Zayn’s quiff was even neat and pristine, whereas the rest of them had collectively given up on actual hair styles a week and a half ago. “You lost all right to any opinions when you quit and got us stuck with a new guy.”

“If you weren’t such--” Grimshaw started but was cut off by Harry chucking an empty water bottle at his head.

“S’not the new guy,” Harry carefully set his guitar into its’ case, checking to make sure everything was where it needed to be before shutting the lid and latching it securely. He took care of his things; even if he could buy a new guitar for every day of the week with the money they’d earned, he’d rather stick to his trusty navy blue Les Paul. He’d written song lyrics he was especially proud of around the body and never let anyone else touch it. “We’ve got a new pet this tour.”

Liam snapped his fingers, recognition coming across his face. “Right, the bloke from Rolling Stone. You think that’s him? He looked awfully young for a Rolling Stone journalist.”

“Maybe it is the new guy,” Niall said. “What do we even know about him?” He lazily plucked out a chord progression as he spoke. It was a catchy tune; Harry absently thought that he’d have to snag it from Niall later so they could work it into a writing session.

“He’s English, early twenties,” Zayn rattled off. “He’s a tenor and is capable on piano, willing to learn on guitar. Not a bad improv or lyricist either.”

“He’s got a solid voice,” Liam added. He shrugged, limbs long and loose. “Matches up fairly well with Grimshaw’s. He wrote a pretty convincing application.”

“He likes footie and lasagne,” everyone turned to stare at Niall, who forgot everything from his own birthday to the names of his family. “It was in his application file!” he said defensively, throwing his hands up in protest. “I remember stuff too!”

“Do any of you actually remember his name?” Grimshaw asked amusedly, moving to sit on an amp. Harry glared at him as he sat but Grimshaw ignored him; it was a long practised pattern of behaviour and Harry had only begun to have problems with it in the past month or so.

“Probably not,” Liam said. “There were a _lot_ of applications.”

They all shuddered minutely, remembering the pile of application tapes they’d worked their way through; this guy, the new guy, they’d picked because he sounded like he could adapt to Grimshaw’s song sets well enough and he had hit all their key requirements for a new member: British, around their age, a talented vocalist, not too arrogant, and not blatantly stupid. Not homophobic, either, although that was a bit harder to ensure.

“Do you know anything about him that wouldn’t be listed on a blind dating questionnaire?”

“Hey, blind dating questionnaires come with photos,” Niall protested. Harry stretched and pulled off his headband, freeing his hair. “Sexy photos, even.”

“You’re missing the point of blind dating,” Zayn said dryly. He leaned over and poked Niall in the soft part of his belly, causing Niall to cackle out a laugh and stop with the chord progressions.

“Well, blind dating never got you laid, did it? My way gets me laid,” Niall countered. “And stop that!” he squeaked as Zayn poked him again. He set aside his guitar and staged his own attack on Zayn.

Grimshaw was smirking in a way that meant he knew something the rest of them didn’t. “So let me get this straight: you’re stuck with the guy for the next three albums at least and you didn’t even bother to learn his _name_?”

“Who the fuck cares,” Harry said, and that was the end of that conversation since their stage manager shouted notes at them about lighting and sound cues they’d missed in their last run-through.

It took them half an hour to go over the finer points of stage etiquette (yet _again_ ) and then they were crashing backstage in the prep room for lunch and an hour of downtime so they wouldn’t overheat. They brought their instruments with them (save Liam’s drum kit) for the purpose of cleaning them and checking over strings and double checking the tuning; Niall was complaining loudly how _Always Casual_ always put his g-string out of tune when Harry dropped his case in surprise.

A stranger was sitting in _his_ chair, the squishy green plaid one, paging through a thick binder and talking with Eleanor; he was potentially one of the most attractive strangers Harry had ever seen. He wasn’t sure if he should be pissed off someone was in his chair or pleased someone attractive was in his chair.

“Oh, good, you’re here!” Eleanor called, popping up from underneath Lou Teasdale’s table. Harry didn’t bother wondering why she was underneath a table; they were all convinced Eleanor was a ninja assassin sent to kill them half the time anyways.

“Where else would we be?” Niall asked pragmatically. He set his guitar case down and crashed onto a pink paisley armchair lacking all stuffing and possessing a multitude of extra springs. Niall was the only one who could sit there without fear of impalement; no one else wanted Niall’s chair enough to bother learning the trick.

“Well, last time I left you unsupervised for fifteen seconds, you wandered into _Denmark_ ,” Eleanor said dryly. “Without any forms of ID, and we had a hell of a time getting you back.”

“In our defense,” Liam began before one of Eleanor’s shoes pegged him in the forehead, just a flash of bright orange and a chalky shoeprint left on Liam’s face. Laughing, Liam sat cross-legged on top of a blocky square school desk Harry vaguely remembered them stealing from an American high school at some point, or maybe it had been a photoshoot; Zayn stretched out lengthwise on a green velvet sofa and Grimshaw perched on the armrest by Zayn’s feet. Harry wandered over to stare at the stranger until he moved.

“You’re in my seat,” he said flatly. “I want it back.”

The stranger grinned at him widely. Messy brown hair fell across his forehead, wide blue eyes innocent but cunning, and a slim frame to boot. “Would if I could, mate.” Harry was surprised to hear he had an English accent too, though the stranger’s was more northern than his own. The others were clearly surprised too, judging by the way Grimshaw toppled off the sofa and Niall sat up suddenly. “But s’mine now. And I, uh, can’t get up, so we’re a bit stuck, aren’t we?”

Eleanor snorted out a laugh. “Pick another chair, Styles. We’ve got plenty of them.” She gestured airily to the maze of furniture.

Harry grumbled good-naturedly but snagged a seat in a white wicker papasan chair with a neon orange cushion that rather matched Eleanor’s shoes.

“Right, so.” Eleanor hopped up on top of Lou Teasdale’s table so she could see all of them; she nearly slipped and fell in her socked feet until Liam reached over to steady her. “Everyone, this is Louis Tomlinson. He’ll be around for awhile, so don’t break him, we like him and want him to stick around.”

“You the new guy?” Grimshaw asked, clambering back up onto his previous seat. “You’ve _got_ to be with your accent.”

Tomlinson barked out a laugh. “I’m going to get asked that question until my ears bleed, aren’t I?” Eleanor flicked something at him; it hit Tomlinson right between the eyes and he flinched.

“Louis’ a journalist from Rolling Stone,” Eleanor supplied. “He’s observing you the entirety of this tour, and then writing an article about the transition.”

“So you know the new guy,” Niall put in, lazily tuning his guitar and not making eye contact. Harry could hear the edge in his voice, undetectable to anyone who didn’t know him well.

Louis shrugged. “I might, might not. I think I’m supposed to keep it a secret either way, make it a surprise for everyone.”

“So you do know him,” Zayn said.

“Not per se,” Louis replied, and grinned. “It’s a bit complicated, I’d rather not get into it.”

“He’s under an NDA,” Eleanor said, and everyone nodded, simultaneously deciding to drop the subject. “Either way we’re all stuck together and he’s living on your bus for the next three months. Let’s not make anything unnecessarily difficult.”

“So you’re from Rolling Stone?” Liam changed the subject as he uncapped a bottle of water and took a long swallow. His empty hand tapped out a beat on the table, a nervous tick of a longtime drummer. “Kind of young, aren’t you?”

Louis’ face took on a serious expression. “I’m twenty-two,” he said, leaning forward though the chair still nearly swallowed him whole. Harry considered what kind of abdominal muscles the man must have, considering how difficult it was to escape from that particular chair. “I’m good at what I do, I promise you that. My boss trusts me to get the job done. I might be new, I might be young, but don’t underestimate me because of it. I will do what needs to be done, and I’ll do it well.” He grinned crookedly. “I get a bit defensive when people underestimate me.”

Zayn chuckled. “You’ll fit right in then. Wunderkinds all of us, don’t worry about it. You should see Harry in one of his strops when a song’s not working out.”

Louis snorted, accepting the compliment and information with a small smile. “Well, you’re doing much better than I am, I’ll tell you that.”

Something dawned on Grimshaw’s face and Harry didn’t like it. When Grimshaw had a one up on any of them, he used it. “ _Louis Tomlinson_!”

Louis’ expression curled in confusion. “Yes?”

“X-Factor 2010, you made it to bootcamp with us.” Aiden snapped his fingers, pointing. “You roomed with...god, what was his name? Matt Cardle’s friend. Uh, Jonathan Thorne, wasn’t it?”

Now even Harry looked impressed. “I did, yeah. Made it to Judge’s Houses, even, but I haven’t done anything with it in a professional capacity since. So, uh, yeah, I was there the same year as you lot.”

Niall whistled. “Not many people know that bit of trivia,” he said. “We don’t exactly advertise it.”

“No, but I remember that one there,” Louis said, gesturing to Harry. “Met in a toilet, didn’t we? I almost got put into, what was it, One Direction? But they chose to go with Aiden Grimshaw over there instead, and I got through as a solo. So I remembered Styles, recognized his face when you got big, but I wasn’t much into your music at the time. Regret that now, of course, but what can you do?”

“Then how’d you end up at Rolling Stone? That was, what, four years ago?” Grimshaw raised an eyebrow. “Little young for a graduate, aren’t you?”

“Who said I graduated?” Louis countered. “No, but I’ve been in university since. I got an offer to come do this, and I said yes, so here I am.”

They quickly fell into conversation after that; Grimshaw and Liam took turns chatting with Louis about how his experience with the X-Factor compared with theirs and if he still sang and other such mundane things. Harry mostly watched Louis and tried to figure him out; it was definitely odd that such a young journalist was assigned to follow them for the entirety of tour, but maybe Rolling Stone had finally figured out that The Diamond Rogue got along better with younger interviewers, like their peers.

Eleanor disappeared for a bit and reappeared with three pizza boxes and a case of Coca-Cola; she handed out greasy slices and napkins with an indulgent smile. “Don’t get used to it,” she told them all, like she did every time she brought them fast food. “We eat healthy whenever we can,” she explained to Louis. Louis snorted, as if he understood the futility of trying to eat healthily on tour.

It was easy enough to fall into light conversation with Louis, Harry noticed. He didn’t talk to the journalist himself, but Niall and Zayn made fast friends with Louis, and they didn’t trust anyone so easily.

After lunch, Louis offered up gum that everyone turned down; he shrugged and popped one piece in his own mouth as everyone collected their instruments and other miscellaneous belongings from from the maze of furniture.

The others filed out to head towards the stage so they could cram in another two or three run-throughs before they called it quits for the day; Louis trailed behind them. Harry followed Louis, and with a smooth series of movements, pressed Louis against the wall and moved in close enough to smell the mint on Louis’ breath.

“So, journalist.” Harry boxed Louis in, bracing his arms against the wall and folding his lanky body so Louis was pressed against the wall, head tipped back to meet Harry’s eyes. “Which team?”

“Sorry?” Louis asked, pressing further back against the wall to gain some small amount of personal space. He hated that he had to look up to meet Harry’s gaze dead on, even with Harry leaning forward and bending down.

“Come on, pet. What team do you play for? Het, homo, bi, pan, a? Pick a team, darling.”

Louis spluttered, but only a little. “ _How_ is that your business?”

Harry smirked. “Well, you’ll be asking me all sorts of invasive questions over the next few weeks, so I thought I should get one in before you get the idea you’ve got one over on me. Which, coincidentally, I wouldn’t mind. Having you on top of me, that is.”

Louis crossed his ankles reflexively, realizing too late how it rolled his hips off the wall and closer to Harry’s. “I wasn’t planning on asking who you fucked, you know.”

“Oh, that’s what you say now.” Harry leaned forward so his lips brushed against the shell of Louis’ ear. “For the record?” His breath was warm and voice low and rumbling; Louis fought against an instinctive shudder and mostly succeeded. “I was asking because I need to know if you’ll have a sexuality crisis after I’ve gotten you in my bed.”

Louis was proud of the way he managed to keep his voice steady as he replied “And who says I’ll be in your bed at all?”

“Mm,” Harry hummed, as if he was considering it. “Me, I think. Or at least, I’m saying it now.”

“And if I tell you to stop?”

“I’ll stop,” Harry said, and pulled back. “Simple as that. But you haven’t said stop yet, pet.” He winked at Louis, then turned abruptly on his heel, disappearing towards the practice stage.

Eleanor whistled sharply. Louis jumped and turned to see her standing there. “How much of that did you see?”

“Just the last few seconds,” Eleanor admitted. “But damn. I have _never_ seen him react like that to anyone, ever. And I was around for both Nick _and_ Cara.”

Louis barely managed to hold in a whimper. “I’m so fucked, aren’t I?”

Eleanor had the decency to pretend not to be amused. “Yeah, you really are, love.”

\--

\--

Since the band was doing another practice run, Eleanor took Louis to find the actual tour manager in charge collect the paperwork for an access card and security lists before she sorted out their travel arrangements to get to the US for the opening leg of the tour itself.

They meandered through the maze of hallways, ducking into offices in varying states of disorder and filled with more and more furniture, Louis watching everything with wide eyes while Eleanor made short phone calls to varying people.

“Afternoon, El,” a tall, broad-shouldered man greeted them as they turned into an office that seemed to actually be an office, for once. “Who’s this?”

“This is Paul Higgins,” Eleanor told Louis, then turned to the man. “Paul, this is Tomlinson.”

Paul was tall and bulky in a way that still felt kind and protective; Louis’ suspicion was confirmed when Paul swept Louis in for a hug rather than a handshake.

“Good to have you on board,” Paul said. “Tomlinson, huh?”

There was something on his face--not an expression, exactly, but a knowing smile, maybe, that made Louis think Paul was in on the secret. “Nice to meetcha.” Paul’s accent was thick and rolling, warm and pleasant, and it sounded like Paul was maybe some distant relative of Niall’s. Probably not though, since Louis wasn’t entirely familiar with the different Irish accents.

“Good to meet you as well,” Louis said in reply.

“So Paul is the official tour manager and my boss,” Eleanor said, gesturing with her hands and nearly elbowing Louis in the face. “He has ultimate override on everything around here. Sort of like the president, except not elected, and democracy doesn’t matter here. Dictator. Supreme emperor, something like that.”

“She says that like she doesn’t get immediate respect for just existing,” Paul teased; it was plain enough to see he considered Eleanor to be like his daughter, despite the fact that he could only be a decade older than her, if that.

She snorted. “I’m lucky if I can get them to carry actual ID and take daily showers,” she said tartly.

“Ah, but you do get them to do that!” Paul said cheerfully. “So really it’s a success all around.” Paul winked at Louis just as Eleanor burst out laughing.

Louis had always gotten the feeling rock bands and their stage crews were more of a rough and tumble, tired and sullen lot. He was glad to be proven wrong; he wouldn’t mind spending a few years in close quarters with these happy, excited people who so obviously loved their jobs. So far, his only objection to working with The Diamond Rogue was Harry Styles, and to be fair, that was more of a complication than a drawback.

“So where are you staying?” Paul asked, drawing Louis out of his thoughts. “We’ve got three sleepers and two vans for most of the tour,” he explained. “One bus for the DR boys and the openers--5SOS, this little pop rock band. The road crew has two buses they split, and we’ve got the vans, midibuses with trailers and half sections for gear. There’s about thirty of us crew, and the nine boys from the bands; all in all about forty people. First time we’ve ever had a journalist tag along, so forgive us if we don’t quite know what to do with you.”

Louis laughed brightly. “It’s my first time doing any of this, so forgive _me_ if I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Paul clapped Louis on the shoulder. “We’ll all be learning as we go, then. You’ll do fine. We’re not a complicated lot; I can get you in to talk with the techs and you can learn the mechanics of tour before you try tackling how the band deals with it. You’ve got a week and a half to get set up.”

“That’d really help, honestly,” Louis said. “Thank you so much.”

“Not a problem,” Paul told him. “You’re here to put us in a good light, so if I can help you out with that, I will.”

“Anyways, I was just going to put him in with the DR boys,” Eleanor said. “Maybe the threat of having their antics published in an international magazine might deter them from their usual insanity.”

“I highly doubt that, but you can certainly try,” Paul said. “So he’ll be on Bus 1? Get him on the security lists and a proper access tag; his press pass won’t do him much good at bus call.”

Eleanor nodded and dragged Louis further into the depths of the warehouse; she shouted a thanks back at Paul before leaving. They wound their way through a series of corridors and past a row of offices until they found another open floor space marked with colorful tape. The stage markings were the same as the stage he’d seen earlier, but the band practicing was markedly not TDR. He wondered is this was the 5SOS Paul had mentioned earlier; they had less of a rock sound than TDR did but performed with an equal amount of joy and enthusiasm.

Eleanor confirmed his suspicions by saying, “This is 5 Seconds of Summer.” She gestured to the four boys and added, “You’ll be on Bus 1 with them, so I thought I’d introduce you.” She cocked her head to the side and listened to whatever the band was playing. “Ah, this is _Heartbreak Girl_. It’s the second song in their set, so they’ll be doing this for awhile. That means Josh, Dan and Emma should be running around here somewhere.” At Louis’ puzzled look, she clarified. “We have two guitar techs and a drum tech on this tour and they work with both bands.”

At a particularly enthusiastic clatter of drums, Eleanor winced and pulled Louis off into another office-turned-green room. This one had significantly less furniture--only two couches, an armchair and a table, and they all actually matched--but was equally messy, with piles of personal belongings scattered on all available surfaces. Eleanor huffed out a breath, clearly frustrated.

“I keep telling them to clean up in here, but do they? No, not a fucking chance.” She rolled her eyes and sat on the couch, gesturing for Louis to do the same. “Anyways, we’ve got two guitar techs and a drum tech on tour; Josh is our drum tech, while Emma and Dan each take half the guitars. Hayley is our resident keyboard expert, but since no one plays keyboard in either 5SOS or TDR, she’s doing soundboards.”

Eleanor chuckled at the stricken look on Louis’ face. “Don’t worry, you won’t actually have to remember all the names I give you. No one but me, Paul, and security actually remember everyone and that’s only because it’s our jobs to remember. ‘Hey, you’ usually works fine.”

“So I’m meeting them because…”

“Because it’s nice to have friends who aren’t always being dragged off for interviews and photoshoots,” Eleanor said practically. “You’ll be with TDR a lot, but some magazines take offense at other journalists being in with them. When they’re off doing that, you’ll need to be doing something; you might as well learn how tour works with the people who actually make it go.” She smiled. “Also because Josh and Dan gossip like old biddies, so if you want to know anyone you should get to know them.”

Louis blinked. “So three instrument techs. Why only three?”

“We try to run as small a show as possible,” Eleanor said. “Or at least, small to medium sized. Everyone does more work, but it’s less complicated figuring out who does what because everyone does everything. There’s something like forty people total, including bands and you.” Eleanor laughed at the look on his face; she seemed to be taking unholy glee in everything that baffled him. “Small tours make do with ten; that’s the living out of a VW bus, barely scraping by, band members do everything themselves, selling homemade CDs type tours. Big Tours like The Rolling Stones, AC/DC, any major pop act; those can have up to a hundred and sixty people on board just as support. Like I said, everyone takes care of their own stuff and so we keep it down to about forty, but a tour this size would usually have sixty, seventy people in the upper ranges. Fifty-five, sixty’s about normal. But we run with a skeleton crew at first, since we always end up picking up new people as we go.” She gave him a skeptical look. “I’m surprised you didn’t already know this.”

“Tour’s different from interviews,” Louis said, trying to diffuse her suspicion. “You never really see road crew in any other context.”

“Well, yeah. The whole point of a road crew is you don’t know they’re there. They make as smooth a show as possible, and if they do their job right you never know they’re there, or if you do, you barely notice them. Sort of like stagehands for theatre.”

Louis nodded in understanding.

Eleanor sighed. “Okay, well, since we’ve got a quiet room, here’s the paperwork for your access pass.” She pulled the file folder she’d collected earlier out from her bag and gave it to him; he filled out the basic information of name, date of birth, emergency contacts, etc. He groaned when it turned out it was needed in triplicate. He was really getting tired of paperwork.

He filled it out and handed it back to her; she had him stand against the wall and snapped a serious photo with her smartphone. “Right, we’ll get you your ID as soon as possible.” She passed back a third of the paperwork; he made a mental note to put it in his binder.

Just then, four sweaty boys came in and stopped dead at the sight of Eleanor.

“If Harry says we did something, he’s lying,” the boy with purple hair said immediately. The other three boys nodded, agreeing. Louis noted with surprise they didn’t have an accent he could immediately place; a second later he realized they were Australian.

“Well, now I definitely know you’ve done something,” Eleanor said, raising an eyebrow. She sat back down on the couch. The curly haired one elbowed the purple haired one in irritation. “I actually didn’t come over here for that. This is Louis Tomlinson; he’s a journalist writing about tour, so yes, you. Mostly TDR, but you too. He’s on Bus One with you; I was hoping one of you could take him over to the hotel if you were done.”

“I can do that,” volunteered the boy with purple hair. “Or, Ashton and I can. Luke has to do more vocal practice. And Calum does too.” He waved at Louis, who waved back. “Michael, by the way.”

“Nah, man,” presumably Ashton said, smirking at his bandmates. “I’m going to laugh at Luke and Calum, you fucking kidding me? You’re missing out on that? Tough shit, dude, poor fucking life choice.”

“Language,” Eleanor corrected, crossing her arms. All four boys nodded sheepishly. “Right. Louis, I’m going to get your ID badge made up and get you in the security system; until then just stick with someone with a badge. That means one of these four right now. Michael, don’t kill him, for the love of god. Try not to get papped, any of you. We really don’t need people thinking Louis’ the new Diamond Rogue vocalist, that would really put a damper on my day and my plans.” She folded her arms, raising an admittedly scary eyebrow. “No one wants to put a damper on my day or my plans.”

The four boys stared at her in something between terror and respect; Louis watched with awe. Eleanor finally sighed. “Alright, you lot. Scram, go do what you need to do.”

Michael parked Louis on a couch while he changed into a clean shirt; the other boys didn’t bother, seeing as they’d be doing another hour of detail work on their show.

After a ten minute break where Louis watched Calum down four bottles of water in ninety seconds flat, Louis gaping in fascinated horror, Luke and Calum headed back to the practice area, Ashton heckling them the whole way.

Michael grabbed Louis’ hand -- a bold move that Louis could already feel meant nothing more than friendship. It seemed like an organic move for Michael; having only known 5 Seconds of Summer for ten minutes it was easy to see how much they touched each other. They were obviously good friends, close enough to drink from each other’s cups and share each other’s close. Holding hands was probably the least of Michael’s concerns. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

“Eleanor did that already,” Louis pointed out.

Michael grinned. “Yeah, but you got the _official_ version. I know all the secret spots.” Still holding onto Louis’ hand, he guided them through several shortcuts; they ducked back into the Diamond Rogue’s practice space. They waved at the band; Harry’s eyes followed Louis as they left. Louis collected his computer bag and put the paperwork into the binder with a note to himself to hole punch them later.

Michael wheedled at a security member until he agreed to take them back to the hotel; the three of them climbed into a van. They were about to pull out when two more men piled in, introducing themselves to Louis as Dan and Josh, two of the instrument techs.

They had light conversation all the way to the hotel, where Josh and Dan disappeared towards the fifth floor while Michael and Louis went for the ninth.

“We’re in a hotel right now,” Michael explained as they stepped out of the elevator. “Bus One is all paired up in rooms on the same floor, except for Grimshaw. He’s got his own, since we’re nine. I’m not sure if you’ll get put in with him or if they’ll give you your own; I think that’s between your employer and Eleanor, and I know absolutely nothing other than that. I know you’ve got the bunk under Harry near the back lounge, since that’s the only one left. It was gonna be my bunk, but then something happened with Liam, and I ended up switching with Luke, who switched with Zayn, who switched with Grimshaw, and Grimshaw didn’t want to switch with me, so he got the empty bunk. I guess that’s yours now.”

Louis winced internally but Michael remained oblivious, chattering away happily. That might end up being awkward and weird if Harry kept hitting on him; Louis resolved to find a way to put Harry off as soon as possible. It was a shame; Louis had a feeling if he’d met Harry in any other situation at any other time, they would have hit it off and at the very least have some bloody fantastic sex. As it was, that sort of relationship had a far too high chance of fucking everything up.

“Any reason you call Aiden Grimshaw by his last name but Harry Styles by his first?”

Michael shrugged, mussing his hair and shaking it to the side; it was almost exactly like a move Louis had seen in any interview involving Harry. He’d watched a few for research; a nagging part of his brain challenged him to remember anything from those interviews other than Harry. Louis soundly ignored that part of his brain.

“This is our first tour. When we first came in, that’s sort of, like. How it was? Wasn’t The Diamond Rogue, it was TDR _and_ Grimshaw. No idea why it’s Harry and Grimshaw, though.”

“Any idea what caused that split?”

Michael looked at Louis suspiciously. “Are you interviewing me? Only ‘cos I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to run it through Luke first. And like, Adam, or Eleanor, or something.”

Louis shook his head. “Just trying to get my bearings,” he explained. “I’d rather not put my foot in it my first day out.”

Michael frowned. “Promise you won’t put this in your article?”

Louis gave him a stern look. “Not a tabloid, mate.”

This time, Michael offered a genuine smile. “Ah, right. I don’t know everything that happened, but it had something to do with Harry coming out. Grimshaw didn’t want him to, or something. I dunno. Obviously Harry did come out, but it caused a huge fight they never really got over. M’not entirely sure what else they were fighting over, but they used to be really close. Not now, obviously, but, they were best friends, and now they’re not.”

As far as explanations went, Michael’s was fairly vague but it did give a set of guidelines for Louis to hold on to.

“So avoid that and I should be fine?”

“Yeah, more or less,” Michael said, beaming brightly. “You into COD? You haven’t got a room assigned so you can come hang out in mine and Calum’s room, but you gotta play COD. House rules.”

Louis grinned. “You’re on, mate.”

\--

Eleanor collected Louis two hours later, swearing cheerfully at her phone. Louis did a double take to make sure he was hearing correctly.

Luke and Calum had come crashing in an hour earlier, followed by a screeching Ashton. They’d fallen into a round robin tournament of Mario Kart rather than COD, and Louis had spent a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon losing by an incredible margin.

“Sorry you’re not doing your job,” Ashton had apologized, blue shelling Louis and knocking him off the fucking rainbow road.

“I start working once tour starts going,” Louis said, his avatar dropping back onto the road. He floored it, shooting for a power up. “Tour’s not going, so this is my free time.”

Luke had snorted, lying on his back and playing upside down. He’d missed a turn and gone rocketing into outer space, scowling at the screen as he waited to respawn. “I like your philosophy.”

Now though, Louis stared as Eleanor continued swearing, voice bright and bouncy. “And good fucking riddance, you fuckface ignoramus asshole,” she chirped and hung up. “Sorry, sometimes the PR team has opinions. We generally try to discourage them from that, since their ideas are stuck somewhere in the conservative sixties.”

“Are they still trying to put Harry back in the closet?” Calum inquired, looking up from his laptop.

“Yup.” Eleanor grimaced and tossed a lanyard at Louis. “Backstage pass and ID,” she said. Louis fumbled to catch it and then hooked his press pass onto the same key loop so he’d only have one lanyard to wear. “Wear it. At all times. If you aren’t showering or sleeping, it had better be on your person at all times. Right, anyways. Tell me you’ve got a valid passport?”

“Yeah, I have,” Louis said. Michael hooked his chin over Louis’ shoulder and stole the controller out of Louis’ slack grip. “I got it when I was nineteen for a school trip to New York.”

Luke shouted a farewell as he disappeared from the room, presumably in search of food.

“Oh thank God,” Eleanor said, sinking down to sit on the edge of Michael’s bed. “I love it when people make my job easier. I need photocopies and the reg number, but that won’t be hard. We’ve got to get you a ticket to fly out to LA in a week and a half, but that won’t be hard to arrange. Your overseer at the label said you had a charge account set up so we’ll get that done ASAP. Oh! I nearly forgot; we’ve managed to get you your room assignments for tour; we’re putting you in by yourself or in with whoever volunteers if we haven’t got the space to give you your own. We’ll give you the single room lecture soon enough.”

“No hangers on, no sex, no wild parties?” Calum chipped in.

“No, that’s just for bands. And those of you under the legal drinking age wherever we’re going,” Eleanor informed them sharply. “Right, Louis. Passport. I need photocopies.”

“It’s in my suitcase, wherever that went,” Louis said.

“They piled all the bags in the hallway here,” Eleanor said. “Since this floor is blocked out for us it’s all perfectly safe. Your bag should be there too, I think.” She unlocked the door and wandered out into the hallway, Louis trailing behind. “We just changed hotels today since some assholish reporters--no offense--were staking out the hotel and it was harassing too many of the other guests.”

Eleanor found Louis’ case in the stack in the hallway, and he produced his passport; she checked it, satisfied, and tucked it into her back pocket. “You’ll get it back in a few hours,” she told him. “Or tomorrow. Whenever.” She glanced at the pile of luggage and yelled for the 5SOS boys to come collect their things; Louis’ bag ended up in Michael and Calum’s room as a stopgap measure until they figured out where to put him more permanently.

By then, Luke popped back into the room. “Dinner’s up,” he called into the room, causing a miniature stampede as three teenage boys plus Louis and Eleanor scrambled to pull on shoes and find jackets. "But fair warning: Styles and Grimshaw are really going at it again.”

“What, the setlist again?” Michael asked, head popping up from the neck of his jumper. He looked rather like a lost meerkat, a comparison Louis promptly decided never to use vocally. “That makes the third time this week.”

“The setlist?” Louis asked. “Isn’t that already set?”

Calum rolled his eyes. “There’s some cover Grimshaw wants to do. Harry’s been fighting against it for ages now. The rest of the band refuses to take sides. When they get going about it, it takes forever for them to calm down.”

“It provides great entertainment,” Ashton chipped in. “And we learn some new words.”

“Yeah,” Michael added. “I hadn’t realized you could call someone a communist fuckface Bieber wannabe and get away with it.”

Louis blinked in surprise, trying to figure out how that would be possible. “I think I have to hear that one for myself. Who called who that?”

“Harry did,” Luke said. “Grimshaw retaliated with horsesucker shitface paper penis.”

“I’m not sure that’s a valid insult,” Louis said, slipping on his Toms and trying to visualize Grimshaw’s insult. He could picture it all too well, unfortunately.

“I dunno if it is either,” said Michael as he dug around under the bed, looking for his sneakers. “But it’s a lot more entertaining than arsehole cunt, which is what I would have gone for.”

The five of them wandered down to a small conference room just off the hotel lobby. Apparently the record company had rented it out as a communal eating space, considering steaming foil pans of pasta were set out buffet-style along with giant bowls of salad and other side dishes.

Across the room, Grimshaw and Harry were yelling at each other; it appeared to be a common occurrence, considering no one was even looking in their direction and instead carrying on their conversations. Or at least, the other Diamond Rogue boys were chatting easily and devouring their food while two tables of roadies looked rather resigned to the yelling.

“Are you fucking serious with this shit?” Harry yelled. His face was coolly furious in contrast to his voice, eyes dark and more than a little bit chilling. “No! Still no! We’ve been over this a dozen fucking times and you never get it through your head! No!”

“I’m not dropping it, and now we’re just arguing in circles!” Grimshaw countered. “Come on we know the song, we’ve practiced it, no one’s getting hurt, we know the band and they approve!”

“We’re not doing it!”

“Why the _bloody fuck_ not?”

5 Seconds of Summer collected their food as the argument raged behind them; Louis trailed behind with his own dinner as they went to sit at the table with The Diamond Rogue.

“How long have they been yelling?” Calum asked conversationally, delivering a fist-bump to Niall.

“At least half an hour,” Niall replied. “They’re just arguing for the sake of arguing now.” He shot a look at Louis. “Is the journo supposed to be hearing this?”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “I don’t start working until we hit American soil. Are we on American soil?”

Niall looked unimpressed. “No?”

“Then I don’t hear anything. Arguing? Are you certain? Maybe you should get your ears checked.”

Liam and Zayn both burst into laughter as Niall’s expression eased. “Ah, sorry about that. It’s hard to know who to trust.”

“I’m not surprised,” Louis answered. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

Zayn bumped his shoulder against Louis’. “We like this one.”

They fell into an introduction Q&A session, the band boys introducing themselves to Louis in a more relaxed setting, and Louis introducing himself to them.

They were discussing music tastes when Grimshaw threw his hands up and stomped over to the table. “What are we talking about?” he asked. The still pissed off Harry followed behind and flung himself into the empty seat next to Louis, glowering darkly the whole time.

Louis shifted away from Harry and squeaked only a little bit when Harry hauled Louis’ chair back.

“We were talking about music,” Zayn said calmly, easily, shooting a look at Harry as if to say take it easy. “This one here seems like he’d like your sort of music, Grimshaw.”

“Really?” Grimshaw leaned forward in interest. “What’re you into, journo?”

Louis shrugged. “Um. The Summer Set, All Time Low, Pierce the Veil, Fall Out Boy. Paramore. Anberlin, A Rocket to the Moon, We Came as Romans.” He gave a wry smile. “The Diamond Rogue.”

Grimshaw’s lips quirked up, as if he wanted to laugh but wasn’t quite allowing himself to. “Did you go to Warped in London?”

Louis huffed out a laugh, mindful of everyone at the table watching them. “Yeah. I hit the big music festivals every year: Warped, Leeds, Reading, Glastonbury. I usually wind up at a few of the smaller ones too, but I usually go to those four with my best mates.”

“So punk-influenced rock and alternative bands, essentially.

“Yeah, s’pose so,” Louis replied. “A bit. Top 40 when I’m drunk, or Broadway when Hannah’s around, but mostly rock, alternative, punk, that sort of thing. Which makes it surprising I’m not a huge fan of you lot.”

Harry grumbled from his spot beside Louis; Zayn chuffed out a surprised laugh; Grimshaw’s face broke into a warm smile. “My sort of lad, then,” Grimshaw said. “Every Avenue?”

“Excellent band. Shame they disbanded. Same goes for A Rocket to the Moon, though I liked Every Avenue better.” Harry looked confused, and Grimshaw looked altogether too pleased about it.

“Got a favorite Every Avenue song?”

“I liked _Whatever Happened To You_ ,” Louis said carefully, hoping he’d caught on to Grimshaw’s game. Apparently he had, since the other man broke into a wide grin.

“I’m more of a _Bad Habits_ man, myself,” Grimshaw said, forking up a bite of pasta. “It’s a weakness. _There Tonight_ , of course.”

Louis raised his eyebrows, not entirely surprised at that answer. “I’d’ve pegged you for a _Picture Perfect_ fan.”

“Yeah, well. I was. But _Someday, Somehow_ got to me.” This time Louis’ eyebrows shot up, suddenly understanding a lot more. “Don’t tell me: you like _Mindset_.”

Now, Louis rolled his eyes. “ _Tell Me I’m A Wreck_ , actually.”

This time, Grimshaw cackled gleefully. “Oh, I like you. I definitely like you, journo. Welcome aboard, Louis Tomlinson.” Grimshaw pushed back from the table, saluted, and then wandered off in the direction of the elevators, leaving his plate on the table.

“What just happened?” Harry asked, finally breaking the stunned silence of the table. Louis glanced over to the other side of the table, where Michael was practically in hysterics.

“We had a conversation,” Louis said, and Michael laughed harder.

“Man, that was beautiful,” he choked out, ignoring everyone’s puzzled stares. “Absolutely beautiful!”

“Every Avenue fan?”

“ _For Always, Forever_ ,” Michael quoted, and Louis grinned. “Good fucking job, man. That was insane. Good to know you’re good on the fly.”

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck just happened?” Harry asked. Niall nodded emphatically, mouth stuffed full of pasta.

“We like the same music,” Louis said innocently.

Michael rolled his eyes. “And then they had a conversation about it.”

\--

After dinner, the 5SOS boys retreated to finish their Mario Kart tournament; The Diamond Rogue boys (minus Grimshaw) began an enthusiastic conversation about their plans for tour while Louis sat back and listened. Harry kept glancing over at Louis, as if gauging his reaction and ensuring Louis’ attention was on him at all times.

They stayed there for an hour that developed into song lyrics being sketched onto a napkin (Niall), four paper airplanes being thrown (Liam) and one argument over the last tea packet (Zayn and Harry); then Eleanor announced everyone would need to be awake by six in order to make it to the warehouse in time for rehearsal. Everyone got up and started dispersing to their rooms at that point.

Louis left with the Diamond Rogue boys, but ended up in Michael and Calum’s room to collect his things. A yawning Eleanor let him into an empty room at the end of the hall; Louis gratefully changed into pajamas and collapsed into the bed, nervous about the coming weeks.

\--

 **@mrgrimshaw** : the city lights are burning bright/on that big hollywood sign/you’re probably sleeping in your east coast time

 **@mrgrimshaw** : man what i’d give/just to be there tonight.

 **@niallbtrippin** : omg omg omg so i’m staying _@thediamondrogue_ ‘s hotel  & THERES A NEW GUY W/ THEM

 **@niallbtrippin** : _pic.twitter.com/dddo3JZJ9_ LOOK AT HIM LOOK AT HIM LOOK AT HIM

\--

The week Louis spent with the bands in the rehearsal space was an education in and of itself. He hadn’t been expecting anything like this, behaviour that was alternately intense and laidback; everyone seemed to be able to flip from laser focus to goofy at the drop of a hat.

Michael and Calum showed Louis the basics when Louis wasn’t sitting in on wardrobe fittings and promo work for The Diamond Rogue. Harry took every opportunity to insert himself into Louis’ personal space or make an innuendo that usually left Louis stammering out a reply, flustered. Niall was always up for a laugh, as was Eleanor; Zayn was usually good for conversation; Liam and Grimshaw both avoided Louis, shooting him suspicious looks.

The week flew by faster than Louis realized it would; he now knew the basic mechanics of how tour worked and how the bands’ schedules aligned to make the whole mess of obligations, shows, performances, interviews, appearances, ad nauseum, function. He gained a serious amount of respect for Paul, Eleanor, and 5SOS’s manager Adam, who organized everything.

The day the Flyby Tour flew out to the US, security woke them up at the absolute arse crack of dawn and herded them into vans, where one of the roadies Louis hadn’t met yet handed out breakfast sandwiches and made sure everyone had everything they were bringing with them on tour.

Louis sleepily and vaguely noticed paparazzi snapping photos of them; it was early enough he just tucked into his breakfast sandwich and wondered how many of these photos would end up on twitter. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, those photos might be a problem but it was too early for thinking so hard.

Airport security was a nightmare; they spent three hours in customs trying to get all the equipment for tour checked out and through. The personal bags for all the members of tour added up to over eighty pieces of luggage; beyond that they had to get stage equipment, guitars, soundboards, everything they didn’t have waiting for them in the US.

While the bands were busy clearing their instruments--Niall in particular refused to let go of his guitar case while it went through security for fear of damage--Dan leaned over and explained to Louis that their stage and most of their electrical equipment was awaiting them in LA, considering power requirements were different between the USA and the UK; he explained that the things they were bringing had specific settings and purposes, meaning that equivalents couldn’t be easily found and set in time for the first show. Dan added clarifications for each item inspected: there were kits of stage clothes approved by their stylist, Lou, who oversaw the inspections with her daughter braced on her hip; there were miles and miles of all manner of cables and wires; two drum kits and eleven guitars with multiple boxes of spare guitar strings and picks and whatever spare parts a drum kit needed; boxes of merchandise and other things Dan simply shrugged at, unsure of the content or purpose.

Agents checked their work visas, which Louis somehow had. It made him wonder if the record company had paid someone off to obtain it or if they’d finger marked him as their new lead singer early enough in the process to get the visa. Or maybe they’d just applied for work visas for everyone who’d gotten into the final round of application. No matter what had happened, Louis managed to have a valid work visa and decided not to question it.

The difficult part came when fans caught word that The Diamond Rogue was in the airport; the bands were quickly ushered into a private lounge while the rest of the road crew tried to seem as anonymous and unremarkable as possible.

Finally, they were grouped up and given their boarding passes by a very harried Paul; Louis fell in with the technicians and found he was sitting with Dan and Josh. He made conversation with a small group of people who introduced themselves as lampies and sparkies--the light technicians.

The bands were hustled through the airport and onto the plane, where they’d booked out the majority of first class; the rest of them had regular boarding but fell into the first group to enter the plane.

Louis accepted his boarding pass back from the agent at the gate and wound his way down the jetbridge, chatting amiably with Dan and Josh, his seatmates. Both lads were excited to have someone interested in their jobs and explained everything with wild enthusiasm.

Josh was explaining each piece of equipment that went into a drum kit -- as well as the apparently significant differences between Ashton’s and Liam’s kits -- while Louis helped Dan wrangle his bulky backpack into the overhead compartment. Josh was detailing the differences between each type of kick drum when Eleanor came tearing down the aisle like a bat out of hell. She grabbed Louis by the shoulder, swung his laptop bag over her arm and leaned over Dan and Josh with a mildly panicked look on her face.

“Now is not the time for blame or pointing fingers,” Eleanor said. “But someone, and I’m not saying it was me, but I’m also not _not_ saying it was me, made a mistake and Grimshaw and Styles got sat next to each other and we can’t change the seats because Malik needs a _window_ so he won’t freak out and Payne and Horan are sitting together and the other boys are paired up, and there isn’t an empty _seat_ because some Japanese businessman booked at the last minute and no one is being helpful right now because, well, _Grimshaw_ , and Styles took the last goddamn cup of _coffee_ this morning and everyone is pissed and grumpy and so help me god I will _murder_ all of them before we get to LA but long story short mistakes were made and you’re helping me fix them.”

Louis blinked.

Aiden Grimshaw wandered down the aisle behind them, looking distressingly normal with rumpled hair and glasses on. “So I’m sitting with Dan and Josh then?” he asked, looking pleased. “Oh, _excellent_.”

Josh waved happily, Dan rolled his eyes but moved to the aisle seat so Grimshaw could claim the seat Louis had originally planned to occupy.

“Um,” was all Louis managed before Eleanor was towing him up the aisle and up to first class. “Is that safe for him?”

“What?”

“Won’t fans mob him or something?”

“Oh, no,” Eleanor said airily, pushing pass a disgruntled American man carrying what appeared to be at least fourteen boxes of Earl Grey tea and absolutely nothing else.

Louis chose not to look closer.

“Dan is quite capable of punching out anyone too rabid, and everyone in that section is one of ours anyways.” She sighed and pulled Louis into a row of seats to wait as a mother carrying a baby went by. “Grimshaw agreed to sit with Dan and Josh; they’re all good friends. You’re wrangling Styles because, God help us all, he actually seems to like you and if you can keep him from getting too insane during a flight that would help everyone immensely.  Usually he’s a nightmare on planes and I forgot to bring his coloring book and crayons.” Eleanor shoved Louis into an empty seat next to a vaguely amused Harry Styles. She dumped his laptop bag on top of him and saluted sarcastically. “Godspeed, Tomlinson. He’s your problem now.”

“No ritual sacrifices my grandmother’s wrinkly arse,” Louis mumbled to himself and turned to face Harry. “Hi, apparently you’re my seatmate,” he said, and stood to put his laptop in the overhead compartment. His shirt rode up as he did so, and when he glanced down, Harry was staring at Louis’ stomach where bare skin showed. “Eyes are up here, mate.”

“Oh, I know,” Harry said, and stretched out luxuriously. Louis was violently reminded of a cat and entirely unsurprised by the image.

A quick glance around showed Michael and Ashton in the seats directly across from them; both boys were waving frantically before returning to the intense pokemon battle raging across their DS screens. Ashton’s DS was painted in what looked to be nail polish in all colors of the rainbow while Michael’s was a much more restrained baby pink. “Um,” Louis said. “Is that normal?”

“Fairly so,” Harry said. He sat up, the double hoops in his ear catching the light. “You going to sit or just stand there all day, pet?”

Louis rolled his eyes and settled into his seat; he folded his feet up beneath him and pulled out his mobile and iPod, dropping them both in his lap, then fastening the seatbelt.

He opened the twitter app on his phone and sent a DM to Stan and a visible tweet to both Hannah and Lottie; Hannah tweeted back with an obscure Superman reference, probably left over from the last time he’d seen her (two months ago) when they’d watched every Superman movie they could get their hands on. They’d worked their way through Smallville and every episode of the animated series; it was their thing, mostly. He replied to her, and the next thing he knew, Harry had the phone.

“Hannah?” Harry asked, reading the tweet. His eyebrows shot up. “She’s got an...interesting twitter handle.”

Louis smirked. There was a reason Hannah had two twitters, and why _@lickmeoutlois_ was the one he’d tweeted to.

“She’s my Lois Lane,” he said, shrugging loosely and rifling through his pockets for his packet of gum.

Harry quirked an eyebrow, looking entirely unimpressed. “Are you comparing yourself to Superman or Clark Kent here?”

“Who said I was comparing myself to either?” Louis raised an eyebrow right back, meeting Harry’s eyes dead on. “No, but Hannah might as well be Lois Lane. Or Wonder Woman, we go back and forth on that; she’s competent, tenacious, intelligent, beautiful…”

“Ooh, look who swallowed a dictionary.”

“Or I just spent three years in university?” Louis suggested, half-laughing. He reached over for his mobile but Harry held it out of reach.

“Ah, ah, I want something in return if I’m going to give this back,” Harry said. Behind the curtain separating them from the rest of the plane, people continued to come in and sit down, the volume level steadily increasing.

Louis huffed in indignation. “And why would I give you anything for something you stole?”

“Oh, but it’s easy, pet,” Harry told him, smug as could be. “I want a kiss.”

Louis barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping. “As far as you know, I have a girlfriend.”

“I still want a kiss,” Harry said, managing to look innocent and smug at the same time. He obviously expected Louis to protest but Louis didn’t quite feel like playing along at this particular moment.

“Opportunity costs. You can keep the mobile. Just turn it off before we take off; it’s not got a roaming plan for the colonies.”

Harry barked out a surprised laugh. “I like you, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis shrugged and plugged in his earbuds; he scrolled through the music on his iPod and settled for a playlist Hannah and Stan had put together for him a few weeks ago. Harry seemed content to flick through Louis’ phone and there was nothing incriminating on there Louis had to worry about so all was well.

“Don’t fuck up my Candy Crush score,” he said absently to Harry, who immediately opened a game of Temple Run and played with uninhibited glee and deft fingers.

Twenty minutes later, the plane was fully boarded and Harry was forced to return Louis’ mobile by an irate Eleanor. Flight attendants flitted through the cabin, checking up on everyone, and Louis lost himself in his music, leaning his head back and bracing it against the seatback.

Maybe he could sleep all the way to the US?

\--

 **@tommotwister** :   _@lottstommo @lickmeoutlois_ if i’m not at home and you’re not at home then who’s driving the car?

 **@tommotwister** : _@staandaamaan_ : remind me again why this was a good idea?

 **@staandaamaan** : _@tommotwister_  stop being such a crybaby and bring me back a souvenir

 **@tommotwister** : _@tommotwister_  shouldn’t leave his twitter app open and then trust me with his mobile

 **@lickmeoutlois** : _@tommotwister_  This isn’t Louis is it

 **@tommotwister** : _@lickmeoutlois_ no this isn’t louis xx.

 **@lickmeoutlois** : _@tommotwister_ : Then who is it?

 **@tommotwister** : _@lickmeoutlois_ oh are you going to guess??

 **@tommotwister** : _@tommotwister_ @lickmeoutlois :: @harry_styles is better than you

 **@tommotwister** : oh shit here come the fans i was never here

 **@tommotwister** : takeoff!! _pic.twitter.com/jd99j92_

 **@tommotwister** : no seriously _@tommotwister_  shouldn’t leave his phone unlocked

 **@eleanorjcalder** : _@tommotwister_ : turn the fucking phone off, styles

 **@tommotwister** : _@eleanorjcalder_ ma’am yes ma’am

\--

Harry watched Louis doze while listening to music. Louis was delicate, fine-featured, but there was something strong and tough about him. It was interesting; Harry almost never was attracted to someone right from the get-go, and the _almost_ only came from this one incident, with Louis. It’d been nearly two weeks now, and Louis’ appeal hadn’t faded, which was strange in and of itself.

He didn’t know too much about the bloke, but he _wanted_ to. That was strange too: lately he’d been more of the fuck ‘em and chuck ‘em type. Louis, he wanted to keep all to himself and never really let leave.

That was dangerous, though. Louis was a journalist, and journalists weren’t really someone a band member, a rockstar could trust.

Didn’t mean Harry couldn’t have some fun though, did it?

Louis blinked his eyes open, drowsily focusing on Harry. “I can feel you staring,” he said, blue eyes blurry with sleep. “Do you mind?”

“Go back to sleep,” Harry said, gently pushing Louis’ shoulder back into the seat. “We’re just taking off.”

The plane began to pick up speed, and Louis sat up. “I always love seeing this part,” Louis said, voice a bit slurry. “Takeoff, I mean. S’weird. Humans aren’t meant to fly, and we are.”

“We convinced Zayn that the plane would do loops the first time he flew,” Harry said, just as the wheels lifted off the ground. “He was bloody terrified.”

Louis snorted, still loose-limbed and relaxed. “Seriously?”

“Yup. He got his revenge by putting salt in our teas for a month and half after, but that happened.”

Louis smiled, slow and sleepy. “Right. Well, I’m going back to sleep.” He drew his knees up to his chest and tipped his head back; Harry watched out the window for awhile, watching as land gave way to miles and miles of water. He jolted a little when a weight fell on his shoulder; it turned out to be Louis, sound asleep.

Harry smiled, lifted a hand to card through Louis’ hair. Oh, this would definitely be fun.

\--

\--

It was late when they filed onto the bus. Not late LA time, but late in England time, and everyone was worn out.

They’d stumbled tiredly through a small mob of paparazzi and fans at the airport; piled into large vans, and driven to the buses. Now, they wandered onboard the proper buses, towing luggage and personal belongings along with them.

Each of the boys tossed their bags into their cubbies and collapsed on top of their bunks, not even bothering to change into sleep clothes. Louis stood at the front of the bus, observing everyone. Harry slung an arm around Louis’ shoulder, gently tugging him towards the back of the bus.

“We’re in the far back,” Harry said, voice sleep-rough and honey-slow. If Louis had been awake enough to process arousal, he probably would have shivered at the sound of it; as it was, he just filed it away in his head under things to consider later. “C’mon.”

Harry wasn’t sneaking touches or taking advantage of Louis’ guard being down; he gently guided Louis to an empty bunk and carefully helped a wobbling Louis out of his shoes and jacket. “I’d get you out of your jeans but you’d probably slap me,” he said. Louis made a tired noise and tipped into his bunk gratefully.  Harry pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Louis’ mouth and drew the curtains shut. “Sleep well, pet. Big day tomorrow,” Louis heard before he fell asleep.

When he woke up, Harry’s gentle kindness felt like a dream. Louis chalked it up to overtiredness and immediately forgot about it.

The next morning, Louis jolted awake to Niall and Luke staring at him, not four inches from his face.

“Oh jesus christ,” he yelped, scrambling backwards and hitting his head on the bunk wall. “Fucking--ow!”

“Oh, is he up, then?” a voice asked conversationally from the front of the bus. “Good, now you’ve only got to get _everyone else_ up.”

“Is that Zayn?” Louis asked blurrily, rubbing his head with a wince.

Niall shook his head. “No, Zayn’s still dead to the world. Sound asleep. That’s Liam. He doesn’t sound anything like Zayn.”

“Are you sure?” Louis griped. “I’ve known you for a week and a half,” he mumbled into his pillow. “And one of those days was a plane and being jet lagged as fuck. Forgive me my sins, oh wise and all knowing, great and mighty.”

Above Louis, a deep rumbling chuckle sounded.

“Harry’s up!” Luke yelled.

Louis rolled his eyes and swung out of his bunk, pushing Luke and Niall out of the way. They went, clinging to each other and giggling, silly with the lack of sleep and excited over the prospect of a sleepover every night for the next few months.

“Do you actually fit in there?” Niall asked, peering into the bunk. “Like, can you lie flat on your back without having to bend your knees?”

“Yeah, why?” Louis asked, digging in his roller bag and producing a clean set of clothes.

“Dude, you’re a _shortarse_ ,” Luke said, grinning widely, half-climbing into Louis' bunk. “The rest of us have to contort and it _sucks arse_.”

“Sucks for you,” Louis said. “Now scram, I’ve got to change. Go divebomb Michael. Or Zayn. Someone who’s not me.” Niall and Luke bounced off, diving towards a bunk further up. “God, did someone give them red bull or some shit?” he mumbled under his breath, pressing a palm to his head. “Jesus Christ on a crutch.”

“You giving me a free show?” Harry asked from his bunk where he was stretched out on his side, head resting on his palm. Across from them was storage, which explained why there were only two bunks back here. Harry gave Louis a long onceover; Louis rolled his eyes and turned his back to Harry. He stripped off his shirt and pulled the new one over his head. He balled up the dirty shirt and threw it at Harry, and managed to peg him in the face.

“Great, new wankrag,” Harry quipped, and Louis glared.

“Stop being such a pervert,” he said, and ducked into the miraculously empty bathroom to change his trousers and brush his teeth.

Eleanor came to collect them an hour or so later, when everyone had wolfed down bowls of cereal and managed to get into clean clothing. There was a group effort to keep everything clean, so Aiden was scrubbing bowls and tucking them into the little dishwasher while Michael and Calum put away the milk and cereal. Louis contributed by wiping down the table; everyone else was unpacking and storing suitcases out of the way.

“Okay, today’s schedule,” she announced, and everyone abandoned their tasks to crowd around the lounge area, crashing onto couches or sitting at the table. “Diamond Rogue, you’re taping for _Ellen_ today. 5 Seconds of Summer, you have a radio interview. Both of you have photoshoots; Tomlinson, you’re tagging along with The Diamond Rogue today, and we have a full run-through of the show tonight. If I hear anything about any of you dicking around, we’ll have problems. Am I clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” everyone chorused.

“Alright, vans leave in half an hour. Do something with your hair, Styles.” This was obviously an old joke as nearly everyone burst into laughter and Louis only felt a bit confused and left out. Eleanor waved and ducked out of the bus.

The next half hour was chaotic as everyone ran around trying to find all of their personal belongings necessary for the day in half-unpacked bags, but when Eleanor popped back in they were all set to go. Michael and Luke waved goodbye to Louis as they swarmed their tour manager, a soft-featured woman called Mary.

They each piled into the appropriate vans; as a non-band member, Louis was put in the front seat so security could brief The Diamond Rogue on how to enter the studio without causing a total mob scene.

The security chief, a black woman who moved with power in her easy movements, explained the basics to Louis once the van started moving. She told him that males and females alike camped out wherever TDR were scheduled to make an appearance, and sometimes even places they weren’t, on the off chance they might see the band. The fans were usually reasonable and didn’t cause too much chaos, but it was always better to prepare for the worst. The _Ellen_ interviews The Diamond Rogue had done in the past had always ended in a mob scene, she warned. But they’d probably leave Louis alone, seeing as they had no idea who he was.

True to predictions, there were at least two hundred people camping waiting for the band outside the _Ellen_ studio.

Eleanor appeared and dispatched Louis with a member of security; rather than everyone ignoring him like everyone had expected, at least half of the people present stared at him and began shouting questions. Security hustled Louis by, deposited him just inside, and then hurried back out to escort The Diamond Rogue boys inside as they carefully made their way through the fans, signing autographs and snapping quick photos with them.

One fan in a blue shirt asked Harry a question, pointing at the door Louis had entered; Louis couldn’t hear the question or Harry’s reply, but he saw Harry laugh and shake his head before forming some sort of verbal reply.

“They really are popular, aren’t they?” Louis asked airily, when Eleanor came in. She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, just a bit. Must be something to do with our irresistible accents, I reckon.” She checked her purse, making sure everything was in. “The boys’ll be another five minutes, so...well, I suppose I’ll have to put you in the dressing room. Not sure what else I’ll do with you.”

“You could just point me the right direction and I’ll wander that way.”

Eleanor grimaced. “You’re another journalist,” she said. “Maybe we shouldn’t let you loose. The media mafia might take you down for being here.”

“I don’t think they would,” Louis said, but glanced furtively around as they made their way through the hallways.  Eleanor deposited Louis in the greenroom with strict orders not to move; the band’s stylist Louise Teasdale hurried in, saw Louis, and deposited her daughter into Louis’ care with and commanded him not to break or lose her before Louis could protest that he wasn’t a babysitter.

As the band came in, dressed differently from how they’d arrived, Teasdale approved their clothing choices and did their hair and (Louis snorted) their makeup.

Lux was newly five and proud of it; she was incredibly excited to have another adult to play with on tour. She chatted at him and convinced him to play race cars with her, so they sat on the ground playing with her collection of matchbox cars. Lux happily informed Louis that her Uncle Hazza had bought them for her.

When Louis looked up, Harry was crouched next to him, waiting for his turn to get his hair done.

“I see you’ve met my goddaughter,” he said, voice kind and rumbly. Louis blinked in surprise as Lux launched herself at Harry. It was an odd image--little delicate Lux in her feminine blue blouse and green shorts, ruffles and sparkles in contrast to Harry’s dark leather jacket and tight skinny jeans. She had cute flowered studs in her ears; Harry had only his left ear pierced but he had two loops in his earlobe today. “How’s my favorite girl?”

Lux gave Harry a big smacking kiss and shrieked with laughter when Harry tickled her sides.

“I’m good,” she told him once her laughter calmed.

“I’m well,” Harry corrected. Lux nodded solemnly and scrambled into Louis’ lap when her mum called Harry for his turn to be styled.

Louis stared after him, more than a little confused and willing himself not to be aroused at how gentle Harry was with children. There was, after all, a five year old in his lap.

Once everyone had been officially styled, Teasdale took one look at Louis and pushed him into her chair. “I know you’re not here to look pretty and take over the world like this lot, but I can’t let you walk around with your head looking like that.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Louis asked, genuinely confused. “We had two minutes each in a tiny bus bathroom. I think it’s pretty good, considering.”

“Considering, yes,” Teasdale said, going after his hair with an odd pointy comb. “Overall, no. Bonus points for effort, but still a failing grade.”

Five minutes later Teasdale had finished. Louis didn’t see any major difference but Teasdale seemed pleased. “There you go,” she said. “Why don’t you sit with me and Luxie to watch the interview? We’ve seen every variant of this a few hundred dozen times over by now, but it’s your first day.”

Louis scooped Lux up to rest on his hip as Teasdale shuffled all her tools back into her kit. “El asked me to mind you,” she admitted, taking her daughter from Louis. “I think I’m supposed to talk to you for some interview or another, but I don’t really know why you’d want to interview me. Lux here, though, she could tell you plenty about her Uncle H.”

Louis snorted. “I’m here for the whole band, not just Harry Styles, funnily enough.”

“That could be argued, I think,” Teasdale said. “Maybe you’re here for Harry Styles, Aiden Grimshaw, and the new bloke.”

“Oh, maybe,” Louis said, and followed Teasdale to a seating area just backstage. He took notes in his binder and watched as everyone prepared for an onstage performance and the following interview; finally, taping began, and Eleanor came to sit with them. Teasdale and Lux went outside to play for awhile as Lux was getting squirmy.

Louis watched the interview with interest; he’d seen a few Diamond Rogue interviews online before but this was something a little different. He was still surprised at how Harry was the band’s speaker and representative; in every band he’d seen before, the lead singer was the frontman whereas in The Diamond Rogue, Harry was frontman and Grimshaw was lead singer.

They performed well, answered a few perfunctory questions and then got to a part of the interview that surprised Louis.

"So, who's _this_?" Ellen asked, pulling up a picture of Louis on the screen. Louis startled; and leaned forward to examine the photo. It was from the night before, when Louis had been tiredly escorted towards Bus 1 with Harry close behind and security boxing all six of them in. “We’ve all seen you on his twitter account, and we managed to find a few youtube videos of him singing. Is this the mysterious new lead singer we’ve been hearing about?”

Harry snorted, the rest of the band chuckling behind him. "Nah, we decided tour might be a bit boring and decided to bring along a pet. His name’s Louis, and he’s rather fluffy.”

“Ooh, really?” Ellen teased. “What breed is he? Stage manager? Roadie? HAB? Assorted hanger-on?”

“Journalist,” Harry quipped back. “They can be troublesome sometimes, but most of the time he’s pretty well behaved, because he knows if he’s good, he gets a treat.” Behind them, Niall was snickering; Louis balled his hands into fists and tried to breathe.

“Have you considered getting him neutered, then? I heard that keeps them calm.”

Harry shot a smirk at Louis, just offstage. “We could, but then he’d be less fun to play with.”

Louis fumed. He opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut and marched off to the back of the lot. Teasdale started after him, but stayed with her daughter, looking confusedly between Harry and Louis’ retreating back.

Not five minutes later, Eleanor shoulder bumped Louis reassuringly, sitting beside him. “Sorry about that.” Louis just about jumped out of his skin.

“Warning would have been nice,” Louis snapped, trying to calm down.

Eleanor grimaced. “You fit in so well it’s weird thinking you haven’t been here forever,” she said. “Though with the way Harry’s reacting I should remember. I’m sorry about him--I should’ve given him the ‘don’t scare the new guy’ talk. At least it was something flattering?”

“He implied I was a pet, and then further implied I was fucking him. What part of that is flattering?”

“He’s flirting. It’s how he shows his affection. He likes you.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Louis grumbled. Eleanor tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace.

“At least he doesn’t hate you entirely? It’ll make being on tour with him a lot easier.” Eleanor sighed. “Except he fixates. I guess...well, Harry’s...Harry’s not nice to people he doesn’t like. He makes it very hard on people he hates.”

“It’ll make it horribly awkward if he doesn’t stop hitting on me,” Louis countered. “Is he always like this?”

“He hasn’t been for awhile. When I first met him, he was all charm all the time. And then whatever happened with Aiden sort of drained the life out of him.” Eleanor leaned against Louis, resting her head in the crook of his neck. Louis wondered if it was normal to be so comfortable with these people after only knowing them two weeks. “Or maybe it was everyone else who did it. They made up stories about him, and it made it so hard for him to keep going, you know? Like, he couldn’t even hang out with his own sister without the tabloids wanting to know who his illicit lover was. And then he came out as bi, and he might as well have signed a death warrant to his personal life.”

“But why _me_?”

“Well. You’re interesting, Louis Tomlinson,” Eleanor said. “And you’re the first person in years who hasn’t treated him like he was only worth his instrument. The other boys, they don’t do that either, but. They’re off limits. He won’t date a bandmate, or. He _can’t_ date them, they’ve known each other too long. But you? You’re new. You’re interesting. You bicker with him, and treat him like he’s human. Can you blame him for being half in love?”

“In love?” Louis scoffed. “I’ve known him two weeks, at _most_.”

“Well, he definitely likes you. But he’s a little stuck in primary, and he’s pulling on your metaphorical pigtails.”

“What if I don’t want my metaphorical pigtails pulled?” Louis grumbled. If Harry didn’t date bandmates, then by all rights Louis should be off limits too. Even if Harry didn’t know yet, and even if Louis was seriously considering getting the fuck out of dodge on this one.

Louis shouldn’t like Harry. It would make it awkward if he left, and it would make it difficult if he stuck around. But fuck if Harry wasn’t one of the most attractive people Louis had ever met, and fuck if Louis knew what to do about it.

“Come back inside,” Eleanor offered. “I’ll talk with him, get him to tone it down a bit. If he doesn’t, it’s early in tour. I’m sure anyone on the Rolling Stone staff would jump to take your place.”

It was a jolt, a shock to remember why people thought he was here. What Harry had just told an interviewer, and then the whole world.

“I guess they would,” he said, instead of expressing his confused tangle of thought. “Doesn’t mean I like giving up.”

Eleanor laughed, a kind sound that could have felt cruel but somehow didn’t. “If you did, love,” she said. “You wouldn’t have made it this far.”

\--

That afternoon, while The Diamond Rogue boys and the 5 Seconds of Summer boys ran through their show as one last rehearsal before tour kicked off the next evening, Louis settled on a couch in the bus and opened up his laptop. Everyone assumed he was typing up notes for his article; he said nothing to dissuade them of that idea. He used some of the time to work on his attempt to memorize all the song lyrics and spent a while dicking around on youtube, trying to find acoustic performance videos so as to hear the music performed better. There were nuances to performance that simply weren’t there in studio recordings, and he needed to seek them out.

He’d answered an email to his mum and tweeted some degree of confusion to his hundreds of new followers when skype burbled with a call from Stan.

“Hey!” Stan yelled, waving at the screen frantically. His hands blurred as he did so; Louis jumped and turned down the volume to his headphones.

“Fucking-- _ow_ ,” Louis said, rubbing his ears and scowling at the screen. “What kind of greeting is that, you tool?”

“The kind for wankers who fuck off to America without notice, you cuntbox! I thought you were going to _London_!”

“I did,” Louis protested. “Then I came to LA.”

“Now I’ve lost both you and Hannah to the colonies,” Stan griped. “If you see her, tell her to never fucking call me again.”

“Oh, you miss her really.”

“Not as much as her ex does.”

“Drop it, Stan. We were seventeen, and we figured out a lot of stuff then. Doesn’t mean anything now, but I guess you knew that.”

Stan rolled his eyes but did drop it; they chatted about university and Louis’ experiences so far before the really topic came up. “So how goes the whole, you know.”

“Harry Styles is a dick,” Louis said bluntly. “A confusing, hot dick, but still an arsehole.” Stan snorted. “Aiden Grimshaw has excellent taste in music, Niall Horan is suspicious of everyone he hasn’t personally approved of, Zayn Malik is a suspicious bastard, and I’m eighty percent sure Liam Payne is either a puppy in a human body or secretly planning successful world domination. They’re equally likely. And I got to meet this band, 5 Seconds of Summer. They’re young, but they’re good, and a right laugh.” Louis shrugged, his shoulders rolling loosely. “I’m thinking of giving up and coming home; Harry Styles is that much of a wanker.”

Stan stared in disbelief. “You’re giving up already? It hasn’t even been a month yet, Lou. Jesus. Give it a couple more weeks at least; remember how much we hated each other the first month we knew each other? Now look at us. Give it a bit longer before you give up entirely.”

Louis griped but finally agreed; they talked for another hour before the band boys came back, freshly showered and ready to head out for dinner. Louis bid Stan farewell and powered down his laptop, following Niall out to the vans.

\--

\--

It was late, but Louis wasn’t tired. Around him, the band boys slumbered on, and Louis tossed and turned restlessly. Finally, he carefully swung out of his bunk, mindful of his head. Harry’s curtain was open; Louis gently tugged it shut. Then he padded towards the front of the bus, thinking he could maybe get a drink of water and curl up on the couch with his iPod for awhile. Picking his way over Calum and Luke’s belongings, he heard quiet voices conversing, and paused.

The voices ended up belonging to their driver, a stern man named Sean, and Grimshaw, who strummed aimlessly on an acoustic guitar.

Louis froze at the sight of them. “I’ll just--go back,” he said, when they stopped talking. Sean didn’t turn around to look at Louis, but Grimshaw did.

“No,” Grimshaw said, gesturing to the empty bucket seat beside him. “Come sit. I’ve been wanting to talk with you anyways.”

Louis stepped forward, still barefoot and having to delicately pick his way through the general chaos of the front area of the bus. He climbed over the gearshift and settled into the bucket seat next to Grimshaw. He noted absently that Aiden Grimshaw didn’t feel like Aiden Grimshaw, rockstar, at this time of night, not when his hair was damp and still curling from a shower, when there were shadows under his eyes not produced by smudged eyeliner.

“It’s three-thirty in the morning,” Grimshaw said quietly, resting the body of his guitar flat on his lap, his back pressed against the bus window; he looked small and soft and sad, and Louis wondered if this was his opportunity to get to know the man he was replacing. “You should be sleeping. Sleep’s not easy to come by on tour, journalist.”

“It’s three-thirty in the morning,” Louis countered. Beside them, Sean snickered. “Shouldn’t _you_ be sleeping, rockstar?”

Grimshaw laughed, bright and honest, but quiet enough not to wake the sleepers in the back. “Oh, don’t let Hazza hear you say that. He loves being your rockstar.”

Louis made a face, and filed away the fact that Grimshaw called Harry, his apparent enemy, Hazza. “He’s a rockstar, you’re a rockstar, it’s not like it’s a big deal. All of you lot keep calling me journalist.”

Grimshaw smiled, the motorway lights flickering yellow over his face. “But you’re the only one he calls ‘pet’, and you’ve only ever called him ‘rockstar’. It’s rather sweet, your flirting.”

“We’re not flirting,” Louis said flatly, and ignored Sean chuckling beside them. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Oh, luv,” the lead singer said, rolling his eyes. “It’s flirting. I know what Harry Styles sounds like when he’s flirting, and he’s _definitely_ flirting with you.”

Louis shrugged. “Keep thinking that, if you like, but I’m not flirting back. Anyways. What are you doing up here?”

“I never sleep well on tour,” Grimshaw admitted. “Homesick, I guess. I miss my bed, and M--I miss my family, I suppose. What else do you do when you’re this far away from home?”

“Talk to your friends,” Louis suggested. “Pretty sure there’s eight of them right back there, even, and a few more in the other bus.”

“If I claimed any of them as my friend, they’d be alienated from the others. I’m leaving in a month or two anyways; I can’t start a fight in good conscience. Besides, I’ve had plenty of time to work on some songs with the extra time. And I’ve got Dan, Josh, and Emma. They’re good people.” Grimshaw shrugged loosely, limbs long and coordinated. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to be telling you this, but fuck it. You live with us. You’ve got Harry half in love with you. You’re already in over your head.” This time, the dark-haired man offered a rueful smile. “But you’re more than that, aren’t you?”

Louis had a small, terrifying heart attack before Grimshaw continued.

“You’re in love with Harry,” he said. “And he thinks you’re in love with Eleanor. You’re all tangled up in this band, and you’re not going to get out so easily.”

“Okay, one,” Louis said sharply, holding a hand up and ticking off one finger. “This is my job. I don’t think you lot understand I’m not here for shits and giggles. I’m here for work, and I’m here to do my damn job, not fuck around. Two, I’m not sleeping with any of you, not for love nor money because I am a professional,” he added, ticking off two more fingers. “Three, I’m getting really sick of people assuming things about me. Four, I’ve been here _three weeks_. How the hell would I have the time to be in love with anyone already?”

“All fair points,” Grimshaw said, tilting his head back against the window and starting to strum his guitar again. “All fair points, journo.”

Louis recognized the tune Grimshaw was strumming; it wasn’t a Diamond Rogue song, though.

“ _The Reckless and the Brave_ ,” he said, watching surprise flash across Grimshaw’s face as he kept playing. “Interesting choice, considering.”

“I probably should have expected that,” Grimshaw admitted. Out the window, they wove their way through a city; Louis had no idea where they were, but it was lit only by streetlights and the buildings were all dark. “Okay, try this one.”

This time, Louis sang along at the beginning. “ _Waiting for Superman_ ,” he said, stopping before the chorus. “Try harder.”

They spent another hour playing songs; Grimshaw coaxed Louis into singing a few, and they convinced Sean to sing along to the radio; by the time Louis was starting to fall asleep, he was comfortable calling Grimshaw “Aiden” and knew much more about tour. He bid the two men goodnight and slipped back towards the bunks, considering a lot of different things.

\--

 **@mrgrimshaw** : i don’t want to fight his war/bullets coming off our lips/but we stick to our guns/and we love like battleships.

\--

The first show was the next night, a dramatic opening at the sold-out Staples Center, which every member of the band was giddily excited and disbelieving over.

Louis was quiet and subdued the next morning; The Diamond Rogue had a few radio interviews he sat in on, and he spent the early afternoon watching them handle a photoshoot. That afternoon was soundcheck, and everyone was rushing around. He sat in the middle of the massive stadium watching as the the two bands tested their mics, warmed up, and met fans with passes for soundcheck. He thought a lot, weighing the pros and cons of what he’d seen so far.

When general admission was about to open up, a member of security escorted him backstage;  

Eleanor parked Louis at the side of the left wing of the stage, and told him to stay there and pointedly not move unless there was a natural disaster of some sort. He sat on his folding chair and took notes, drawing out diagrams of backstage and generally looking like a busy little journalist. 5SOS waved at him as they took their marks; Niall, fully prepped to go on in forty minutes time, came and sat on a spare chair.

Niall leaned his arms on the back of the chair, straddling it and looking out at the stage. “It never gets less insane,” he said. “And I’ve got my mic pack on. It’s chafing something awful,” he added conversationally. “I don’t even sing, I don’t understand why I need a mic pack, we’ve been doing this four years and they still give me the fucking mic pack.” He propped his head on his arms and stared at Louis. “Right, so. What’re you doing?”

Louis held up his notebook. “Taking notes on how backstage works and trying not to get underfoot.”

“Ah, that’s good, good.” Niall stretched and started a rambling, one-sided conversation about chord progressions and ad-libbing riffs and solos; Louis listened until 5 Seconds of Summer started off the show and got the crowd progressively more and more excited.

Niall looked at Louis from his chair. “Having fun, there?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Louis admitted. Niall cackled.

“What, mic pack wedgies? Trust me, mate, not missing much there, especially with this flat arse I’ve got.”

Louis spluttered.

“Yeah, you weren’t paying attention,” Niall said, laughing. “You mean the show?”

“Yeah. Backstage at a concert’s different than backstage at a festival, or in the crowd.”

Niall shrugged. “Everywhere’s different. Here’s different than our next place. S’how it goes, it’s always different. Mostly the same, though. It can get boring. First night of tour’s always different than last night of tour. Both are always really intense. Not sure about this one, though, with the new guy and all.”

Louis hummed absently, sketching out another diagram of the stage. “I guess I’ll know what you mean soon.”

Niall shot him a look; Louis shrugged. “This is the first show, yeah? I’ll see at the second one how different it is.” Niall’s shoulders relaxed a hair but he was still eying Louis oddly.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said, and started explaining the elements of 5 Seconds of Summer’s performance to Louis.

At the fourth song in the 5SOS set, Niall was collected by one of the sound engineers, who checked his mic and hustled him off to where The Diamond Rogue boys were assembling. Liam was nervously spinning his drumsticks through his fingers and over his wrists; Aiden was flicking a guitar pick from hand to hand; Harry ruffled a hand through his curls and rocked from his toes to his heels, eyes closed. He looked somewhat like he was praying. Zayn, on the other hand, was spinning on the tips of his toes and flitting from member to member, and ended up hanging off to Niall until they collected their instruments, when he started double checking the tuning.

Emma smacked his hands when he tried to change it. The band themselves circled in, having a quick conversation; probably reminders about marks and setlists. Louis took notes and marked down where they stood  in relation to the stage, the crowd, and himself.

The crowd roared a round of cheers and applause as 5 Seconds of Summer finished their set; Louis could hear each of the boys thanking the crowd and Calum getting the crowd excited for The Diamond Rogue.

Finished for the evening, the 5SOS boys tore off the stage, shrieking; they bounced around and waved to Louis before running off somewhere. The stage crew moved in place to set up for The Diamond Rogue’s set, while boys themselves huddled up, bent together and psyching themselves up for the show to come. Louis could see Harry’s lips moving, everyone watching their de-facto leader as he talked them through their plan. They piled their hands in the center, all of them locking eyes with each other, nodding reassurances that they were all ready.

They broke apart with a shout as Josh came tearing off the stage, having set up Liam’s drum kit; they put their hands together and broke apart as if they were a footie team getting ready for the first game of the season.

Aiden smiled, giddy and bubbling over with energy. “Game time, lads,” he yelled, clapping his hands together. “Once more unto the breach!” The screaming from the crowd condensed into a countdown and a wall of sound; as the crowd counted down the last thirty seconds, Liam slipped onto the stage and started a pounding drum beat. At twenty seconds, Niall played a single riff and followed him; at fifteen, Zayn and Harry hurried out, and at ten, Aiden followed them. At one, they broke into the first song of their setlist in perfect unison.

Despite the fact that they resolutely did not get along off-stage, The Diamond Rogue was a seamless unit on-stage. There was no hint of the cracks that permeated their personal lives; they were a team, reading each other's cues and responding in record time.

Harry took lead position five songs in, and led the crowd in a rousing rendition of _Shattered_ , the one song he sang on the album and one of many he’d written personally. Louis watched in awe, observing how Aiden and Harry played off of each other, making the show that much better by their presence. For all his flirty ways, Harry’s lyrics were powerful and strong, proving a solid, steady lover underneath the bravado. Knowing more about the band and its current members, Louis wondered who had broken Harry’s heart so badly he’d written such a scathing song in reply.

He was starting to form an inkling, but it wasn’t a thought he was ready to voice just yet.

This then was the paradox: Louis needed to know if the band would trust him enough to let him in and do his job, but in order to do that, he knew he’d have to betray their trust by revealing himself as he was.

At the very least, he’d probably get a song on the level of _Shattered_ written about him in the aftermath.

He started considering ways to resign this, to say, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” to the record company, but Harry was singing and the crowd was chanting the chorus, and it was an incredible sound; Louis began to long for his own chance on the stage.

He couldn’t leave, he realized.  He wanted to be here, he wanted to be part of this grand adventure, and he wanted to do it with these boys, even only knowing them less than a week. If he left, he could have Harry and leave, and that would be an excuse. But staying meant he couldn’t have Harry, and staying meant he would have that adventure.

At some point, the 5 Seconds of Summer boys came and sat with him, hair damp and wearing fresh clothes; Louis registered it but chose to focus on the show instead.

Before he really realized it, The Diamond Rogue boys finished their set and three encores; they ran off the stage and passed their instruments off to Emma and Dan. Josh was reluctantly handling Zayn’s bass, having been roped into helping out until the drum kit needed to be broken down and taken off stage. The band slammed each other into bone-crushing hugs, clearly buzzing on a post-performance high and adrenaline; Aiden looked like a member of the band then, not alienated, not alone.

It wasn’t just the band buzzing; the members of crew had infectious grins and slapped each other on the back in congratulations as they passed; even Eleanor and Paul were clearly high off the adrenaline.

A jubilant Harry lifted Louis off his feet and swung him around, whooping, giddily proud of himself. Without warning, he set Louis down and kissed him, abruptly sweet. Harry’s lips were gentle but insistent; the kiss was closemouthed but sent heat curling down Louis’ spine.

Harry pulled back a second later, expression wide and open. “Thanks for the kiss,” he whispered, and bounced off, whooping.

Louis barely had time to process before Zayn slung an arm around his shoulders.

“It’s always like this first show,” Zayn shouted over the cheers of the band and the roar of everything came together, we did it, we got through, everything came together just fine.

“It was a good show,” Louis said, feeling the adrenaline buzz hit him; he hadn’t been aware adrenaline was contagious.

“Fuck yeah, it bloody well was,” Zayn said, and slung an arm around Louis’ shoulders. “Better than getting hammered or blitzed, let me tell you. Feel free to quote that, by the way.”

“No he can’t!” Eleanor yelled. “No drug use in any articles!”

“Damn, there goes my opening,” Louis deadpanned, and found himself at the center of a rather sweaty dogpile.

\--

 **@harrystyles** : Great first show, awesome crowd!!

 **@harrystyles** : we’re all a bit excited _instagram.com/p/idflidnwiMienOY_ /

 **@mrgrimshaw:** It’s good to be back on the road again!

 **@real_liam_payne** : frist shooooooooowwww sooo siiiiickkkkk

 **@niallofficial** : crazy show, this is going 2 b a greeat tour

 **@zaynmalik** : crowd 2nite was awesum, _pic.twitter.com/1di9ns_

 **@tommotwister** : i didn’t expect that, and i’m glad i didn’t

\--

 **@lickmeoutlois** : _@tommotwister_ how was it

 **@tommotwister** : _@lickmeoutlois_ loud, and good. what else were you expecting, hannah?

 **@lickmeoutlois** : _@tommotwister_ there’s something to be said about i told you so

 **@tommotwister** : _@lickmeoutlois_  oh fuck off

 **@lickmeoutlois** : _@tommotwister_ what is this feeling, so sudden and new

 **@tommotwister** : _@lickmeoutlois_ NO SERIOUSLY FUCK OFF.

\--

To Louis’ surprise, no one went out and partied after the show; instead, everyone began to crash after showers and a late dinner. The on tour nurse checked out two of the roadies and Niall’s hand where a guitar string had snapped and lashed him across the knuckles; by bus call, Louis was the only one from Bus 1 not in his bunk. Eleanor’s on-tour assistant stopped by and checked everyone off, making sure everyone was there; she checked the clipboard hanging by the door to confirm all instruments were stowed in their compartment under the bus along with spare luggage. She waved to Louis cheerfully and headed towards Buses 2 and 3.

“Do they always do this?” Louis asked Sean, who shrugged.

“They’ve had a long day, and tour’s nothing but a collection of long days. Sleep’s a hard thing to come by.”

The buses and trailers began to pull out of the lot once Eleanor’s assistant darted into the lead van and slammed the door shut. Harry came and settled into the seat next to Louis with a notebook, scribbling rapidly, sketching out what looked like a poem.

Their bus was behind the vans but in front of the other buses, the middle of a caravan.

Harry and Louis sat together, each absorbed in their own activities--Harry writing, Louis curled up in the front seat next to Sean and watching as they moved past crowds leaving the venue late. He watched as they wove through traffic as they wove their way out of the city, off to their next destination. The green and red stoplights gave way to yellow streetlamps, gave way to long stretches of unlit highway. Harry still wrote, absorbed in his notebook.

Louis then carefully wound his way through the bunks, careful not to wake anyone, settled into his own, and fell asleep, the sound of Harry’s voice trying out a song muffled by the heavy door separating the bunks from the rest of the bus.

\--

“So,” Eleanor said. It was the day of the second show, and they’d spent the night travelling to San Diego for a one-night show; for some reason they were both beginning and ending the tour in LA which meant they’d return there for the final shows.“You’re the new lead singer.”

Louis’ choked on the water he was swallowing, spluttering out a mouthful and dropping the open bottle onto the floor.

“Oh, for fucks’ sake.” Eleanor grabbed a pile of napkins off the craft services table and threw half of them at Louis. He fumbled to catch them while she dropped a handful on the floor and scrubbed up the spilt water. “Yes, I know. Are you surprised? Why are you surprised? I know _everything_.”

Louis glanced around furtively to make sure no one had heard.

“You can’t just say that,” he hissed, not even questioning why or how Eleanor knew. Like everyone else on tour, he’d gotten to the point where he just assumed Eleanor knew everything. It was a bit of a defense mechanism that ensured his survival.

“Oh, relax,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “No one heard. But you. New lead?” When he didn't reply, she sighed. "Paul told me. And I looked up the application tapes. Seriously, what the _fuck_?"

“I won the contest,” he explained, eyeing the door suspiciously. “Apparently, I can sing.”

“Now is not the time for sarcasm,” Eleanor said tartly, whapping him on the back of the head with the now-empty water bottle. Louis flinched reflexively and covered his head with his arms. “Now is the time for explanations.”

“To them?” Louis’ voice squeaked. He hadn’t meant for it to do that, but it happened.

“No, to me. A journalist? Why a journalist?”

“So I didn’t get the chance to sabotage tour, I guess, or kill someone accidentally with my lack of knowledge regarding stage tech. And so I’d get to know the band without raising too many suspicions.” Louis shrugged, then shrank under Eleanor’s fierce glare. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“If it wasn’t your idea, then whose was it?” Eleanor straightened up and stood with her hands on her hips, glaring impressively.

“Harvey’s?”

“Harvey?” She blinked, processing the input. She raised a skeptical eyebrow, frowning. “Do you mean Harvey Wellerman?”

Louis shrugged again. “He introduced himself as Harvey, and I never figured out if it was his first or last name, so I just...didn’t address him by name?”

Eleanor sighed and dropped her pose, rubbing her forehead. “I’ll bet anything it was Harvey Wellerman, since that’s the only option that really makes any sort of sense. He’s gone a bit...well, a bit off the deep end is probably the polite way of saying it. I thought Francine Charleston was in charge of you, or else I’d’ve intervened earlier.”

“Off the deep end?”

“He thinks he’s Niall’s uncle, let’s put it like that. In the somewhat creepy sends presents every major holiday and occasionally tries to give bad advice sort of way.” Louis winced. “Yeah, that’s generally why we work with Francine Charleston.”

“Yes, well,” Louis said, reaching for a new water bottle. “I didn’t know that.”

Eleanor sighed. “Well, I’ll contact the record company and see if we can’t get this whole fuckup fixed.” She exhaled through her nose. “Why’d you think it was a good idea?”

“I was terrified!” Louis protested. “I had zero idea what was going on!”

“So you agreed to a giant lie?”

“Can we not have this conversation here?” Louis hissed, just as Dan and one of the light technicians came into craft services. “Someone’s going to hear.”

Eleanor muttered something under her breath and dragged Louis into a supply closet, much to the surprise and shock of Dan and the light technician. “Why the fuck did you say yes?” she slid her hand along the wall for a light switch and found it, casting the small room into a stark fluorescent light.

“Why the fuck would I have known something was wrong?”

“Right, Wellerman.” Eleanor put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. “Can we at least reinforce your cover story a little?”

“No, please do,” Louis said.

Eleanor paced a little in the small space. “So you’re pretending to be a Rolling Stone journalist. Publicly, no one knows where you’re from--I’ll make sure none of the boys mention it so we don’t have anyone getting too suspicious or pissy once the truth comes out. You’re researching bands on tour for a book--makes more sense for you to be here long term, then, and you’re writing an article for Rolling Stone in exchange for their support. If anyone asks to see your stuff, use big words and change the subject really fast.”

Louis nodded. Eleanor tapped her foot. “You need to practice, somehow. Get to know the songs, stage blocking, interview etiquette, how to handle signings, all that stuff. You’re supposed to perform the last five shows,” she said, eyes widening. “Shit, I forgot that! That’s a month from now; you’ve got to be proficient by then. Do you even know what you’ve got to do?”

“I was learning by observation,” Louis admitted. “And I got a binder of diagrams, lyrics, and sheet music. The white one I carry all the time? Otherwise I only know what I learned from theatre.”

“Not good enough. Look, the reason they have two tour managers this time around is because we needed to get you and the band ready to work together in addition to managing the 5 Seconds of Summer boys. That’s not usually a tour manager’s job, but this isn’t a normal situation. I’ll have to tell Paul, but we can get you scheduled and trained up. We’ll have to have a meeting with the band, explain to them the circumstances--”

“Please don’t,” Louis said quietly. Eleanor stopped talking, looked at him quizzically. “I don’t know if I’m staying on permanently. Or if I’m staying on at all.”

“Of course you will,” Eleanor said briskly. “You can do it.”

“No, because of Harry. And Aiden.”

Eleanor frowned, then froze. “Right. That could be a problem.” Louis could practically see Eleanor’s brain making connections and thinking up a plan; she sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Okay. how to get out of this whole fuck up? I’ll have a conversation with Harry about leaving you alone. You work on learning all the songs and everything--I’ll need to look at your stuff so I can get you all the missing prep materials--have you got in-ears? No? We’ll set something up so you do. We’ll do weekly check-ins, and if you’re not good to go by the end of the third week, we’ll make up an emergency for you to return home to, and hopefully you’ll just fade into a memory for the boys. If you stay, let me know as soon as possible, so we can get damage control going.” She pulled out her phone and began tapping something into it; she looked up after a minute. “We need to plan a reveal as well; and drop some hints, for the _love of god_.”

Louis nodded. Eleanor hummed. “So. You go observe the photoshoot today, and I’ll get your schedule to you by tomorrow morning. Now, shoo. Go!”

Louis slipped out of the closet. Harry turned and stared, mouth opening to say something undoubtedly snarky.

“No jokes,” Louis said. “Really, not now. No jokes.”

Harry snapped his jaw shut, but with a smirk. Louis shrugged and moved down the hall. He heard Harry’s yelp of surprise when Eleanor emerged from the closet, and Eleanor’s enraged yell at whatever comment Harry made.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he heard her shout. “Man up, yes, I was in a closet, have you never seen them before? Don’t fucking say it, Styles! Don’t fucking _say_ it!”

There was a shriek and a thump as Harry said whatever Eleanor didn’t want him to say.

Louis grinned.

\--

It wasn’t unusual for someone to be singing in the green room, Harry knew. What was unusual was that Harry didn’t recognize the voice right off the bat; he knew his bandmates’ voices as well as he knew his own, and he was getting there with the 5 Seconds of Summer boys (even though Calum liked to occasionally break out in a deep operatic belt that threw everyone for a loop), but this voice he couldn’t place. It was familiar somehow, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, put a name to the voice.

He turned a corner into the green room and the voice cut off mid lyric; the only people in the room were Dan, Louis, and Josh. It was probably Josh, then--Josh had a nice voice but he never sang in front of anyone ever. He crashed on a folding chair and joined in their conversation about which James Bond movie had been the best. Not long later, Dan and Josh were called off to set up for soundcheck and Louis trailed behind them, taking notes.

Harry pulled out his American mobile--it was weird, having an English one, a European one, and an American one, but it did save on long distance charges--and started texting Michael and Luke about the weird water-stain pattern in the dressing-room ceiling. He moved from the folding chair to the sofa and stretched out lengthwise, considering the value of a quick nap.

“So get this,” Liam said, climbing over the back of the sofa and nearly landing in Harry’s lap. “We were googling Louis Tomlinson and look what we found! He’s got a youtube channel.” Niall flopped onto the floor, and Zayn piled on top of him, despite the fact that there were plenty of perfectly good seats all over the room.

“Is he a blogger, or a--” Harry started to ask, but as cut off by one of Liam’s tabbed videos starting.

“Shit, I thought I paused all of them,” Liam yelped, scrabbling through tabs to find the right one. It turned out to be a video of Louis with a very pretty blonde girl, singing a duet. The timestamp was about a year ago, and when Liam went to pause the video again, Harry held up a hand. “Hang on.”

“He sounds really familiar for some reason,” Zayn said. “Bloody good singer, though.”

“His facebook is locked,” Liam put in. “His twitter’s not, though.”

“I knew about his twitter,” Harry said dismissively. “Is his whole youtube channel like this?”

“No but seriously, he sounds really fucking familiar,” Niall said, staring at the computer as if it would suddenly speak and reveal all the answers.

“He was on our season of X-Factor and at our boot camp,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “He made it through to Judge’s Houses just like we did. I’m sure we heard him sing at some point there, and that’s probably why he sounds familiar. That, and he’s on tour with us. Surely someone’s heard him singing in the shower or something.”

“No, it’s more than that,” Niall said, frowning. “His voice is way too familiar for us all to recognize it like that from three years ago.”

Before anyone could follow that train of thought any further, Eleanor rapped sharply on the door. “Hey, I need Harry for just a second.”

Harry disentangled himself from the other boys and followed Eleanor out into the hallway. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you about Louis,” she said. “You need to knock it off with the flirting. Do your job and let him do his.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said, and had no intention of following through.

\--

True to her word, Eleanor produced a schedule for Louis the next day. It was color-coded and neatly organized, highlighting times where Louis would sit in with each band (pink for The Diamond Rogue, yellow for 5 Seconds of Summer), when he would meet up with various people to practice and learn, and a single white block of free time.

“You did this to yourself,” Eleanor told him, tapping her copy of the schedule on her leg. “The whole thing would be so fucking much easier if we could officially explain why you’re here and get you out of the coverup obligations. Then we wouldn’t have to explain why you’re here and not need to maintain a lie. Okay, move on.”

His first “class” was with Paul, who handed over a thick blue binder tabbed in sections; when Louis flipped through, it was all his old sheet music for each member of the band; the section labelled Aiden was also labelled Louis and was easily the thickest. There were extra sections of Louis’ old notes and extra forms of information about tour, recording, and everything else that could possibly be of any help. Paul smiled sheepishly and passed over an iPod loaded up with instrumental, live, and recorded versions of every song Louis would need to learn.

“First job: memorize all the lyrics and sing them on key, following the sheets,” Paul instructed him. “You need to be mostly off sheets by next week, so get going.” That wasn’t so hard--Louis had done faster jobs memorizing scripts for plays and musicals, but this was a lot of content.

Paul stayed with Louis while he practised; that afternoon, Louis sat in on a Diamond Rogue Q & A session and noticed that Harry had backed off somewhat. He still flirted and sat next to Louis whenever possible, but he wasn’t openly making approaches or actively pursuing Louis anymore. After the Q&A, Eleanor smuggled him out to be measured and fitted for in-ears.

Louis spent an extra hour that night going over song sheets after everyone else had gone to bed; he mouthed the words and and had two songs down out of the twenty-song playlist by that evening, with another three in progress.

He was woken up bright and early by Niall and Ashton bouncing around again. Aiden was in the kitchen, slurping down a thick brown sludge that looked rather like sewage waste but Niall assured him was actually strong coffee with a slice of bread dropped in. Louis thought that sounded disgusting but Aiden and Niall swore by it; Louis shook his head and dug out a box of tea instead.

The early morning atmosphere felt strange; with only Niall, Aiden, and half the 5SOS boys awake, the atmosphere was warm and friendly, even. Niall produced toaster waffles and a half-empty bottle of Bombay Sapphire; Louis accepted the waffles and declined the shot of Bailey’s for his coffee. Actually, he declined all offered coffee and stuck to his mug of hot, strong tea.

“So,” he said, settling at the table. “Plans for today?”

“We’ve got a half-day off,” Niall said. “Radio promo in the morning, and a quick Q&A with you, then we have the afternoon off. No concert for the next couple of days, since we’re playing the festival, the whatchamacallit out at the California coast, but we’ll get into Vegas at like, 2 AM tomorrow, or something? Hotels for two nights, and then...I dunno. Houston, I think. It’s a good, boring day. Tomorrow we have prep and the first Vegas show--we’ll probably go out after, and that’s about it.”

Louis nodded and dug into his breakfast. “Sounds good.”

Niall grinned. “It’ll be fun. Aiden doesn’t think so--”

“--festivals _always_ end in fan riots,” Aiden cut in, looking haunted. “Always. The hardcore fans go to see all their favorite bands, and they’re bloody terrifying-”

“--he’s overreacting, ignore him. Toast?”

Louis eyed the plate suspiciously. It smelt like marmite, but definitely didn’t look like it. “Is that marmite?”

“Vegemite,” Ashton called from the kitchen. Niall dropped the plate onto the table, suddenly looking disgusted.

“--someone is going to end up with a broken arm, I just know it, that’s how these things always end--” muttered Aiden, still looking horrified.

“Vegemite is the _worst_ ,” Niall said over Aiden’s rant, ignoring his bandmate completely. “Marmite is the only way to have toast.”

“They’re practically the same,” Ashton said. “Yeast spread, it’s delicious.”

“Marmite is the color of caramel and it’s actually like, spreadable. Vegemite looks like shit and tastes like it too,” Niall argued. Louis took a piece from the plate and bit into it. Not bad.

Niall smacked Louis hand. “Don’t eat that, it’s probably poisoned by the Australian bastards.”

“Oi! You liked vegemite fine when we were back home--”

“--I’m eighty percent certain I sprained my wrist at the last festival--”

“--yeah, because there wasn’t any decent marmite, and it’s better than bloody jam on toast, but vegemite doesn’t even compare to marmite--”

“Jesus, what is _wrong_ with you all?” Luke said as he emerged from the bathroom. He looked so confused that Louis couldn’t help but burst out laughing. A beat passed, then Niall and Ashton were laughing with him.

\--

The music festival turned out to be something named Beachfest; a festival thankfully not on the beach proper. It was on the coast halfway between San Diego and Los Angeles, and the beach in question was more rock than sand.

There was still enough sand present to be a bitch and a half, according to a very pissed off Dan and Josh, who spent the better part of an hour complaining about it. Emma was nowhere to be found, but when Louis came across her later as she cleaned gear, the dagger looks she was sending at the beach spoke her opinion about sand loud and clear.

The crowd was huge--apparently Beachfest was a big deal, despite the marked lack of a beach. Of the fourteen bands playing over the course of two days, The Diamond Rogue didn’t even rank in the top three most famous. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a big crowd waiting for them; what it did mean was an early afternoon time slot ahead of bands like Fall Out Boy and Panic!at the Disco, though they did play a full set.

The Diamond Rouge spent the morning doing festival interviews and promo, radio interviews and a rather impromptu photoshoot with an interviewer’s polaroid. Louis sat in and watched, and warded off several dozen inquiries about if he was the new lead singer. When The Diamond Rogue settled down for a quick half-hour signing and meet & greet with VIP pass holders, Louis wandered off. He took his camera and snagged shots of the crowd and the band themselves as he drifted aimlessly through the crowd.

The band currently on the big stage was loudly wailing out a heavy guitar solo; Louis wasn’t entirely sure if they had a vocalist or not. It was good music though, and he made a mental note to snag a program to figure out their name.

A girl in a bright blue beanie yelped excitedly upon sighting him. “Are you Louis Tomlinson?” she demanded breathlessly.

He stared at her suspiciously. “Why?”

“You so totally are!” she said, bouncing on her toes. “Oh my god, oh my god, can I get a photo with you?”

“...why?”

“Do you know them? No, wait, duh, of course you know them!”

“Sorry?”

“TDR, duh,” she said, looking slightly demented. “You know them, right?”

“Kind of?”

Another girl with wildly curly grabbed the beanie-clad fan. She looked rather like Leigh-Anne from Little Mix; Louis spared a thought to wonder if Little Mix was wandering around Beachfest and decided that if he couldn’t walk around without being bothered by fans, the biggest girl group on the planet certainly couldn’t. “Sorry about my girlfriend, she’s a bit excitable. You the new lead?”

“Do I _look_ like a new lead singer to you?”

“Yes,” the first girl said immediately. Then second eyed Louis’ press pass and made an understanding noise.

“Can we get a pic?” the first demanded. Louis took a step back.

“I’m not…”

“Yeah, but still,” she said. “Just for twitter. I follow you!” she added.

Louis wasn’t sure if he should be thankful or be terrified; instead, he settled for a quick selfie with her.

\--

 **@tommotwister** : Not sure what just happened…

 **@roulettequeen:** met a v. cool guy @ #beachfest!! w _@britishbonnie pic.twitter.com/kdi1092 @tommotwister_ #leadsingercandidate #hottie

 **@diamondrouger1616** : _@roulettequeen_ IS HE???????????????????????????????

 **@roulettequeen** : **@diamondroguer1616** he’s a journalist for rolling stone but he’s touring with them. if he’s not, he should be.

\--

“You blew up twitter,” Eleanor said accusingly, holding up her phone. Louis paused from where he was setting his camera down on the table. “You’re fucking _trending_.”

Louis blinked. “I’m _what_.”

“You’re trending. Fans got photos of you here and leaving the tour bus. People think you’re the new singer and you’ll be debuting today. And then they found your twitter, found Harry’s tweets, and now there’s a massive argument on the internet over if you’re the new lead singer or if you’re Harry’s new boyfriend.”

“When’d I get a new boyfriend?” Harry asked, coming into the tent. The rest of the band followed him, coming into the dent and flopping onto folding chairs with relief. “I think I’d remember that, or at least I should’ve been dropping hints this morning.”

“Twitter found out about Louis,” Eleanor said, rolling her eyes. “They’re trying to decide if he’s your illicit lover--”

“--not possible,” Niall cut in. He had produced a box of Chinese takeaway from somewhere and was happily chowing down on fried rice. “He’s out of the closet, so it’s not illicit. Secret lover, possible, but illicit? Nope. Plus being bi isn’t illegal, so it’s still not illicit.”

“--thank you for the grammar lesson, Niall, but they’re insisting Louis’ either Harry’s secret lover or the new lead.”

“Christ, they’re really not letting that go,” Zayn said, raising an eyebrow. “ _That_ is impressive for our fans. Usually they have a fifteen second attention span.”

“Well, the _Ellen_ interview is getting aired tomorrow,” Eleanor said. “So people don’t know who he is yet. They just know he’s hanging out with you, is on tour, and is living on the band bus. Oh, and Harry _keeps fucking tweeting him_.”

“Holy shit,” Louis said, having opened his twitter account. His follower count had soared into five digits long and was still increasing at a rapid pace. “How the fuck do I have so many followers?”

“They found his twitter,” Harry said, expression settling into clear annoyance.

“Yeah, just a bit. They’re trending hashtag-new-lead-singer-candidate. Other fans have started trending hashtag-fuck-the-new-guy. We’re not sure if that’s literal or not. Louis is right in the middle of all the speculation. Right, well, you’ve got one more interview. We’ll do damage control later.”

“Another interview? With who?”

“Me, actually,” Louis said. “Grab a seat at the table, we should be done pretty quickly.” He managed to get all the Diamond Rogue boys assembled at a rectangular table with Eleanor hovering in the background.

“So, three weeks in,” he said. “I’ve gotten a good general idea--” he hefted his binder and flipped it to a section in the middle labelled “interviews”. Harry’s eyes widened at the amount of paper in the binder. “But now it’s time to clear up any miscommunications before we move forward. Eleanor’s monitoring, and either this will go well or it won’t. I highly suggest it goes well.”

Aiden was grinning widely, leaned back in his chair. Harry was still gaping at the binder, and Liam, Niall and Zayn’s expressions ranked somewhere between the two.

“We’ve got a video camera,” Louis said, gesturing to the sleek black device setup on the tripod just behind his shoulder. “Any questions, comments or concerns before I start recording? All of this will be on the record and potentially used,” he tacked on as an afterthought.

The first five minutes they bounced back and forth over the basic facts Louis had accumulated--ages, heights, vocal styles, instruments played, highest level of education, on and on.

“Yeah, it’s boring,” Louis said when he caught Zayn yawning tiredly. “But hey, it’s better than saying something totally blasphemous, like Niall Horan is the drummer while Aiden Grimshaw plays bass and Liam Payne is leaving the band.”

“Or that you’re my boyfriend,” Harry said, winking at Louis. Louis, for his part, pointed his pen at Harry and nodded, trying not to flush. Judging by Niall’s smirk, he hadn’t quite managed it.

Instead of focusing on that, he barreled on with “Or that. That would be a lie, and so we should just clear up all of these misconceptions right off the bat.”

That got a laugh out of everyone.

“Right, now we’ve got the mostly boring stuff out of the way, talk to me about some interesting stuff. Open question for everyone: what made you stay together as a band after your failure on the X-Factor?”

Harry considered the question; any other interviewer and he’d give the stock answer, that it just made them good friends and stuck together for the hell of it, not expecting any of this fame. But Louis had been on the X-Factor too, and failed too. He wouldn’t make their failure out to be a big deal, but portray it more as it had actually been.

“We didn’t, at first,” Harry admitted. Beside him, Niall jolted in surprise. A smile spread across Grimshaw’s face. Zayn hid a laugh; Liam frowned deeply. “We were all fucking pissed off and went off to do our own things. We were so furious about blowing it that we just didn’t want to see each other, so we all went home. I started writing some pretty angry songs--”

“Understatement,” Niall put in. “Major understatement.”

“He says that like his songs weren’t just as angry,” Harry said, expression open and a little bashful. He spoke slowly and steadily, eyes never leaving Louis. “I wrote angry songs. Niall wrote angry songs. Aiden wrote some sad songs, and some angry songs, but mostly sad songs. Six months later, I called Niall and we met up, put our songs together and started forming a band. We started out with my old band, White Eskimo, but they ended up being more into an alt rock sound rather than the angrier punk influenced rock we were going for.”

Niall shrugged. “So that left us with two guitarists and nothing else; we needed more backing and a good drummer. I remembered Liam mentioning something about drumming, so I called him up, and that was an awkward conversation, let me tell you--”

“No it wasn’t!” Liam cut in, but Niall kept going

“And so Liam showed up the next weekend, and he had Zayn in tow, and the next thing we knew, Zayn was rocking a bass guitar and that was that.”

“So we took the songs and started fiddling around, playing bars and whenever we could, and ended up with some stuff that was actually halfway decent. Far too angry by half, but decent,” Liam said. “Between us we had enough money to record a shitty demo, and we recorded it and sent it to anyone who’d listen under the name Rogue Red. That’s _Rouge_ , not Rogue,” he said. “Like the French word, but I can never pronounce it correctly.”

“You named your first band _Red Red_?” Louis asked incredulously. Eleanor was shaking with silent laughter; Zayn had buried his face in his hands, as if trying to press bad memories back into his brain. “Seriously?”

“No, Rouge Red,” Harry said, looking a little put out. “We were seventeen, okay, we thought we were being clever.”

"No, _you_ were seventeen," Aiden said, just as Louis replied with “Well, thank god you changed it.”

“A bit, yeah,” Liam put in. “But we ended up getting signed by Queen Capital, which was this little micro label that merged with Fearless within two weeks of us signing. Aiden was at the new label, we got grouped together for having a similar vocal style.”

“It felt like fate,” Niall offered. “Us being put together again.”

“I’d been working on my own album and some exec thought I’d fit well with Rogue Red,” Aiden said. “We took what we had, blended our styles, and came out with The Diamond Rouge. Rogue this time, not rouge.” He chuckled, rolling his eyes. “It wasn’t really a good time for any of us; like Harry said, we wrote a hell of a lot of angry songs that never ended up on the album. But our breakthrough single actually was, surprisingly enough. We tried to cut it and it ended up being what launched us to fame.”

“ _Bridge_ ,” Louis said. “You wrote that about the X-Factor?” Louis had done some research and knew that The Diamond Rouge as a band never talked about the meaning of their breakthrough single, preferring to let the fans take their own meaning.

“Officially, no,” Niall said. “Unofficially, it was about a lot of things, and the X-Factor was one of them. Liam not making the Olympics, that was in there--”

“Zayn dealing with bullying, Niall failing his A-Levels,” Harry added. “My parents divorcing. Aiden losing his job. We wrote it because we had tried something we wanted, or had something we needed, and it fell through, the bridge falling out from under our feet. It resonated with people, somehow. We ended up with the breakup single of the year, one of the top-selling albums, and we hadn’t expected it at all. Our second album was softer edged, and it still went over just as well. It just wasn’t so angry.”

Louis nodded; this was all stuff he had learned from watching old interviews and putting the pieces together with what he knew of this group of people.

“Your second album was still pretty angry.”

“Yeah, well, a couple of us settled down, Harry fell into another relationship, got dumped again, had a rebound, and became the dumper,” Aiden said candidly. Louis noticed that both Harry and Zayn flinched. “So there was anger from that. Niall and I contribute, but Harry’s our main songwriter. Guy’s a genius.”

Louis was surprised Aiden was complimenting Harry, considering how much they were at each other’s throats. Harry and Niall both had momentary looks of shock before they too covered their expressions.

“So is that why Harry is the frontman if Aiden is your lead singer?” he asked instead.

“Yeah, mostly,” Zayn said, speaking for the first time. “Aiden sings the song, but Harry actually knows what the songs are about, and how to get fans to connect. It was a natural choice.”

“That, and Aiden’s shit at keeping secrets,” Harry said. Everyone chuckled, as if it were an in-joke. “Officially, it’s because it was a compromise. Unofficially, it’s because I’m more charming than he is, and when I get going I can actually interest people. Aiden’s a bit too blunt, and no one else wanted the position.” He shrugged.

“It’s unconventional, but it works for us, so we don’t question it,” said Liam. “Next question..”

“Question for Niall, then,” Louis looked down at his binder and flipped a page. “Talk about your guitars a bit? I’m a keyboardist myself, guitar goes a bit over my head, I’m afraid.” Niall gave Louis a funny look, cocking his head and looking like he was trying to figure something out. Louis barrelled on, hoping Niall wouldn’t say anything. Aiden was smirking again. “Guitar always went over my head, though. Niall? Recording versus performing, I’ve noticed you use the two different ones.”

Niall shrugged, then launched into a long-winded explanation tempered by Harry and Zayn throwing in comments and Niall usually dismissing them outright.

It was a fun conversation that wound down ten minutes later, so Louis checked his notes and found another question to ask.

“Ah, question for everyone!” Louis grinned. “Writing processes! Mixing process, sound engineering, everything you want to give me. Act as if I was the new guy and you were breaking it down for me. What defines your sound and your fanbase? How to you write a song, and how do you edit it?”

The whole band described the process, voices rising in order to be heard over everyone else. Louis absorbed the information and listened animatedly, asking clarifying questions as he went.

“So do you know the new guy?” Harry asked. Eleanor started; Louis shrugged.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” Louis shrugged again. “Not sure I should tell. Bit tricky, isn’t it?”

“But he’s definitely our business,” Harry argued, leaning forward, batting his eyelashes. “So spill.”

Louis hummed, shooting a glance at Eleanor, who nodded minutely. “I know him,” he said, looking at each member in turn. Each of them suddenly looked a lot more interested. “I know he’s considering not staying on permanently, as you’re all fairly intimidating to him. Beyond that--well. Supposedly he’s good. He’s not well known. And uh, you’ve all met him before.” Louis held up his hands before anyone could say anything. “I can’t say more, but that’s your new guy. On that topic--how do you all feel about having a new lead singer?”

“Feel? What is this, primary sharing time?” Harry snorted. “I can think of a few things I’d like to share. Hey, Louis, how about you--”

“Harry,” Eleanor said sharply. Harry snapped his mouth shut and tried to look innocent.

Niall rolled his eyes. “Stylistically, his voice fits in with our sound pretty well--he and Aiden share a range and they have similar musical backgrounds. Though he plays piano, that might alter our sound somewhat, or come in handy. He should blend well, if everything works out.” He gave Louis a long considering look. Aiden was still smirking.

“Personally?” Zayn said, shrugging loosely. “He seems like he’ll fit on paper, but that’s always a bit roulettey.”

As if on cue, Aiden and Liam both hummed a few bars from the chorus to _Roulette_ ; they grinned at each other before their expressions dropped and they looked away, avoiding each other's eyes.

“You’ve met all of us, him included,” Harry said, eyes boring into Louis’; at the end of the table, Aiden was doing the same. “What do you think?”

“It won’t be the easiest,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “I think it’s doable. It could work--no, it would definitely work.” Eleanor gave a tight little nod. “But it would take work.”

“Meaning?”

Louis shrugged. “It won’t be seamless, but he’s good. He’ll do his job. Only question is will you let him?”

Aiden was smiling now. “Fair point, journo. Any other questions for us?”

Louis checked his notes. “Hey, yeah. Someone explain to me the pre-show handstand thing I saw last night?”

\--

 **@tommotwister** : not sure why you’re here, or why i’m trending

 **@lickmeoutlois** : _@tommotwister_ they found out you’re superman!!! #secretsout

 **@staandaamaan** : you’re both certifiable _@tommotwister @lickmeoutlois_

 **@harrystyles** : excellent day for #beachfest!! had fun with my man _@tommotwister_ !!

\--

While The Diamond Rogue were on stage, Louis spent an hour with a vocal instructor, strengthening his voice and learning new exercises to improve. He learned tips for TDR’s sound. He still didn’t have his IEMs, which would make everything a lot easier, but for now he had four songs down and the rest firmly started.

TDR had a public signing after their set, and a Meet & Greet with another band; that evening, they were free to explore the festival, so long as they didn’t cause a mob scene. Upon hearing that announcement, the whole band whooped, changing into casual clothes, putting on false glasses (or in Niall’s case, an impressive bushy fake beard). They made themselves not unremarkable, but different enough that anyone might do a double take but then dismiss it as a coincidence.

Once they’d all changed into clothes that made them blend in, they wandered out into the festival area in pairs so as not to draw more attention than necessary. Louis wandered out with Niall and they found their way to the main stage and were quickly joined by Harry and Liam.

The crowd rolled and roiled, surging closer to the stage, like the ocean not too far off. Niall and Liam took off in the direction of the food--of course they did--leaving Louis with Harry, considering Aiden and Zayn had decided to take a smoke break together before heading out into the crowd.

“We’d better stick together,” Harry said, smirking. “Bus call’s at eight, we’ve only got two hours and I’d hate to leave you behind.”

Louis rolled his eyes, shifting so as not to get trampled by the crowd. “You paid them off, didn’t you?”

“Would I do something like that?” Harry asked, looking far too innocent. Just then, someone knocked Louis into Harry’s chest. Harry brought his arms up to keep Louis there, protecting him from being jostled even more. “That? That was a chance. Losing my bandmates?” Harry grinned down at Louis wolfishly. “That’s all on them, love. Maybe they thought we needed some time alone.”

Louis sighed and pushed away. Harry let him go. “Are we going up front?”

Harry looked smug at his victory, proud he’d procured Louis for the rest of the afternoon. “Whatever you want, Lou.”

Louis huffed but kept close to Harry as they picked their way through the dense crowd as a unit. Harry pressed himself against Louis at any opportunity, bumping hips and wrists until they got as close to the front of the crowd as they were likely to get.

A stranger tried to pull Louis away to dance with her; Harry cut in and brought Louis back as the third song of the set flared to life and the crowd surged forward again, chanting along with the lyrics.

Louis sang along, voice lost to the crowd; he was beautiful, Harry thought, lost in the music as much as Harry himself ever had been. He danced, movements fluid and bright; Harry put his hands on Louis’ hips, pulling them flush together. Louis didn’t push away, immediately confirming Harry’s suspicions: a) Louis didn’t have a problem with blokes being in his personal space, and b) he didn’t object to Harry himself. Which made Harry wonder why Louis wasn’t responding to Harry’s advances.

He shrugged to himself; Louis was allowing Harry this new, unexplored boundary, and he fully intended to take advantage of it.

When the set ended--Harry made a mental note to text Pete and Patrick later and tell them how good it had been--the crowd began to disperse. Louis pulled away and nulled whatever truce had been brokered.

“Come on, Styles,” Louis said, flushed pink and a little hoarse from screaming with the crowd. Harry tried not to think of what else might make his voice sound like that, and failed. “Bus call in forty-five, yeah?”

“Forty-five minutes is plenty of time,” Harry said, amused. “Let me buy you dinner, yeah?”

Louis looked at Harry suspiciously. “Is this a date?”

“It could be,” Harry said easily. “Or it could be two mates at a music festival. But remember, you said it, not me.” Louis’ flush was definitely embarrassment this time.

They found a stand selling powdered sugar funnel cakes, corn dogs, and cold beer. Harry bought two of each, passing individual items off to Louis. The vendor asked to see Harry’s ID for the beer, and was turned down when they saw he was under twenty one. A laughing Louis bought two beers with his own ID, and only gave one to Harry when they were a ways away from the stand.

“They carded you,” Louis said gleefully, laughing at Harry. “Your expression was the fucking funniest thing I’ve ever seen, oh my god, it made my day.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry said, biting into his corndog and staring Louis right in the eye. It stunned Louis into silence for a second before he brushed it off. Or at least, he tried to.

“Was it worth it, getting humiliated when you tried to impress me?” Louis asked. He put mayonnaise on his own corndog and licked an extra glob off his finger. Harry didn’t reply; Louis bit delicately into his food.

“Well?” he prompted. “Am I getting an answer?”

When he looked up, Harry was staring at his lips, a little shellshocked. “I may not have thought our dinner plan through very well,” he said suddenly, gaping a little at Louis.  He balanced all his food in one hand and reached out to brush a glob of mayonnaise off of Louis’ lower lip. Louis swallowed.

“What, because it’s messy?”

“No, because I”ll need either a cold shower or a good wank after.”

Louis ended up choking out his mouthful of beer. Harry slapped him on the back, grinning cheerfully all the while.

“Oh, I’ll get a chance to use my new wankrag!” Harry added. “Thanks for the shirt, by the way.”

Louis poured the rest of his beer over Harry’s head, then snatched Harry’s plastic cup and poured that over Harry too. The fizzing liquid soaked through Harry’s clothes and dripped out of his hair.

Louis stormed off in a huff; Harry followed, still lazily eating his corndog.

When they re-entered the band bus area, Harry headed for Bus 1, while Louis, presumably, disappeared to go complain to Eleanor. Niall was hanging out in a folding chair just outside the bus, strumming at his guitar and chatting with Josh. They both did double-takes at Harry’s appearance.

“Rejected again?”

“Not outright,” Harry said, beaming. “I think he’s warming up to me.”

“Not a chance in hell, mate,” Josh said, but it was kind. “You sure he’s worth the trouble?”

“Oh, definitely,” Harry said. “Did we get cleared for the--”

“Song? Oh, yeah. First Vegas show. Soundboard’s pissed, but we got it in. You sure he’ll like it?”

“How many times you gonna ask that? Yes, I’m sure. I’m very, very sure.”

Niall shrugged and stole part of Harry’s beer-soaked funnel cake. “Your life, man. I’m just saying it might not work out the way you think it will.”

“Probably not,” Harry said. “But there’s a chance?”

“Miniscule,” Niall said. “Microscopic. One in a trillion.”

Harry grinned widely, and tipped an imaginary hat. “That’s all I need.”

\--

\--

Louis was hanging out on the band bus as they travelled; Liam, surprisingly, had expressed a strong desire for alcohol--he’d actually asked for Niall’s Irish Coffee or hot tea with whisky, and that had quickly devolved into drinking. He was still pissed off at Harry, but it was hard to be mad when Harry essentially turned into a needy puppy when drunk. It was hilarious.

Louis and the 5 Seconds of Summer boys had abstained from drinking. Not because Louis was setting a good example--Harry and Niall were both minors in the US and they were drinking--or for lack of trying on the 5SOS boys’ part; it was mostly because a) Louis didn’t want to slip up, and b) they’d gotten Paul for supervision that night.

It was an interesting, chilled out atmosphere on the bus. The 5SOS boys retired to the back lounge, where they’d roped Paul into a FIFA tournament; everyone else (except the driver and Louis) was pleasantly buzzed. Louis wasn’t, but he felt drunk off the softened atmosphere. Niall was slightly more pink-cheeked than normal. He and Aiden bent together over a guitar, whispering about some indistinct thing. Every minute or so, they’d pluck out a different set of chords. Over the course of an hour, they developed a melody.

Zayn sprawled on his back in the middle of the floor, looking for all the world like his deepest wish was for a good cigarette then and there. Liam had his head on the floor but his feet kicked up on the sofa and Harry’s shins, dozing. Harry had commandeered the sofa, stretching out lengthwise and his head in Louis’ lap across from Aiden and Niall. They band chatted then, discussing lyrics and riffs, musical shifts and ideas that had brewed in the past week or so. Louis got the impression they didn’t usually write drunk or even tipsy like they were now, but that they liked to and got their best material out of the loosened situation.

Liam sat up and scribbled down a string of chords that Niall rattled off at top speed, and passed the pad of to Zayn who glanced at it and hummed the melody line, then wrote down a potential bassline. He considered it, made a small change, and handed it over to Harry, who scrawled out a lyric.

Louis’ phone buzzed; he carefully disentangled himself from Harry and moved to the kitchen for some small medium of privacy.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Louis? It’s Eleanor,” Louis made a mental note to save this number so he could text her questions without resorting to twitter. “Remember how you got measured for in-ears?”

“Yeah?” Louis couldn’t forget it; he’d had an ear impression made so as to get the best fit, and it had been a cold silicone material pressed into each of his ears.

“They’re finished and getting shipped to a store in Vegas for us to pick them up. You have to go in to make sure they fit and so any last minute adjustments can be made. Tomorrow’s Beachfest but we should be able to get them two days after, in the evening. How do you feel about skipping a show to go get them?”

“Could do,” Louis said. “Are you allowed to, though?”

“It’s part of my job description, babysitting you,” Eleanor replied. “And Paul can handle everything for one night. So I guess we’ll go at--” The phone was no longer in Louis’ hands; he looked up and there was a glowering Harry Styles.

“Did I tell you you could take my phone?” Louis demanded. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“What about Thursday, El?” Harry asked, ignoring Louis’ question. Louis watched Harry’s expression, trying to decipher it; he hung up with a flick of his fingers.

“You’ve got a date with Eleanor, Thursday at six,” he informed Louis sharply. “Are you really shagging your boss, Tomlinson?”

“Eleanor’s not my boss,” Louis said. “And how the fuck is it any of your business?”

“I dunno, maybe because you’re on my tour?” Harry snapped. “And she’s my tour manager?”

“And maybe she’s a good friend and you’re jumping to conclusions,” Louis shot back. From the sitting area in front of them, The Diamond Rogue boys were silent. “Or maybe it’s none of your business who I fuck, or what my sexuality is, other than the fact that you are getting way too far into my personal space and presuming a lot of things you really fucking shouldn’t.” Louis pushed away from Harry and snatched his phone back. “And by the way? Fuck you.”

He made his way to the back of the bus before he could see Harry’s expression and made himself part of the FIFA tournament there. No one asked why; Michael just moved over and claimed Louis for his team, and they played FIFA far later than they reasonably should have.

\--

When Louis woke up, the bus was still moving and his watch was blinking five AM. He’d only slept three hours--not surprising, considering he never slept well when he was upset. He rolled over and tried to hide his face in the darkest corner of the bunk, burying his head underneath the extra pillow he’d stolen from the storage cupboard. It should have been easy enough to fall asleep, but sleep didn’t return. Everything felt too loud--Ashton’s snores, the quiet mumble of Liam talking in his sleep, the rustles as any of the other nine people he shared a “room” with rolled over or shifted. The only person not making any noise was the person directly above him, and Louis was not feeling kindly towards Harry at the moment, even if he was being quiet.

Even the normally soothing rocking movement of the bus was keeping him awake; usually the gentle lull and rhythm helped him fall asleep but now it only jostled him every time the bus bumped. Giving up on sleep, Louis carefully slid his curtain open and winced as his bare feet hit the cold floor.

He opened his storage drawer and fished out an oversized white jumper that had, at some point, belonged to either Stan or Hannah, or possibly both of them. Either way it was incredibly comfortable and just the thing he wanted right now.

He carefully picked his way past the other bunks, trying not to trip over spare pairs of shoes in the dark. This particular area on the bus was kept mostly clean by common vote, for people who needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night when the section was kept dark, but shoes were usually left next to their bunks so they could be put on easily in the morning.

He carefully opened the door and slipped out, shutting it behind him; he turned and froze immediately.

Harry was sitting at the table with a steaming mug of coffee and a music notebook, apparently working on chord progressions. The logical thing here would be to turn around and go back to the furthest lounge, but that would be giving up, so Louis gave Harry a wary look and started making a mug of tea. He could feel Harry watching him but when he looked over, the other man was engrossed in his book.

Once his tea was made, though, there wasn’t really anywhere else to sit but at the table. He cradled the mug in his hands and gingerly sat across from Harry, making sure their knees didn’t bump.

“All Time Low?” Harry said, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“Your shirt,” Harry said, gesturing. “From the _Weightless_ era, right?”

“You mean the _Nothing Personal_ era?”

“...yeah, that.”

Louis rolled his eyes and dug out his ipod, putting headphones in and steadily ignoring Harry. It was hard though, when the bus jostled and their knees knocked together, warm in the over-chilled bus. He kept trying not to look at whatever Harry was working on, but it was too easy to read the upside down notes at the top: “a song for L.”

Louis swallowed and tried to ignore what the connotations of that could be; instead, he pulled up a playlist that kicked off with some Pierce The Veil and pretended he didn’t notice Harry reading the song titles as his iPod shuffled through half the playlist.

An hour later, the bus pulled to a stop, and someone knocked on their door; Louis got up and unlocked it, letting one of the roadies in.

“We’re stopping at IHOP for breakfast,” he said, in a strong American accent; Louis couldn’t quite place where from. “Anyone who wants food should get up and out; we’re here for an hour. There’s also showers in the trucker building across the lot for anyone who wants one.”

Louis nodded and the guy waved as he headed off to inform the other bus of what was going on. Louis turned around and Harry was already up; together they woke up everyone else and soon a sleepy, pajama-wearing group of band members was shuffling into the IHOP and settling at a series of tables. Niall, Calum, Michael, and Liam all piled into a booth; Zayn and Aiden claimed a small table together with Josh and Dan; Emma was sitting with Eleanor and the lighting manager; Harry and Louis wound up at a small table for two, tucked into a corner.

Louis looked around for empty seats with the rest of their group, but there were none to be found and he couldn’t rationalize a valid reason for asking any of them to move.

They sat in silence, picking their meals out from the menu; Louis fiddled with the fraying edges of his menu card until a waitress came and took their order, quickly returning not long after with a pot of burnt coffee.

Louis couldn’t think of anything to say, so he didn’t; instead he listened to the chatter of the restaurant, picking out Niall’s loud laugh and Eleanor’s distinct voice through the early-morning din there.

“Strange that there’s so many people here so early,” he tried. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Most of them are ours,” he said, and Louis fell silent again, stirring sugar and creamer into his coffee. Minutes ticked by. Louis got up and used the bathroom, and sat back down again.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said suddenly. “I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

“Except you did.”

“I know, but...I mean, I thought you liked me back but you’re going out with Eleanor now?”

“Are we in primary? Harry. You’re a fantastic guy, and you’re attractive, but...it’s not what I’m looking for right now,” Louis fiddled with the salt shaker and poured a small pile on the table.

“So you do like me?”

“Are you going to focus on that? Really? I like you, Harry, but a romantic relationship? It wouldn’t work. This is our workspace, and if it goes badly, it goes badly for both of us. Plus I’m fairly certain my contract has a clause in it that goes something like ‘no fucking anyone in the band’. I’m also fairly certain it’s amoral, in my line of work. It wouldn’t work.”

Harry nodded, watching as Louis tried to balance the salt-shaker. “But after tour? When you’re not following us around on a daily basis?”

Louis hummed. “Maybe. If I don’t end up doing this thing permanently.”

Harry raised an eyebrow but his question was interrupted by the waitress placing their orders on the table. And so Harry offered an earbud and his mug of coffee, and Louis traded a bite of strawberry pancakes for some of Harry’s crepes, and that was a truce.

After breakfast, everyone started to head back to their respective buses and vans. Harry and Louis walked together--Harry was stopped once by a fan and Louis ducked out of frame when a camera was taken--only to find Niall and Luke trying to sneak by Eleanor. She stood in front of the bus door, arms folded and eyebrow raised.

“I know you haven’t been taking decent showers,” she said, calling out each of the boys in turn when they started backing away. “The buses never have good showers, and I’m sick and tired of you smelling like you’re homeless and haven’t seen a shower in six weeks. Get your caddies, we’ve blocked out the shower house. If you don’t wash all your nooks and crannies, you’re walking to Vegas.”

Everyone gulped and nodded. Eleanor stood aside and counted them off as they collected towels, shampoo, toothbrushes and any other necessary shower equipment. They trooped over as a collective group, the ten of them with clean clothes stashed in plastic shopping bags.

The shower building itself was one room with maybe twenty stalls; they all dispersed into individual stalls, hanging caddies from the showerheads and draping their towels and clean clothes over the curtain rods.

Louis had scrubbed up and done a pretty good job of shaving blind when he realized he’d forgotten something; a peek into his bag revealed he really had forgotten his shampoo.

He groaned loudly, closing his eyes. “Damn it.”

“Are you having a shower wank?” Harry inquired from the stall next to him. “Because I’d quite like to see that.”  Louis leaned forward and thunked his head against the tiled shower wall.

“Fuck off, Styles,” he said. “I forgot to bring shampoo.”

“Oh, you can use mine,” Harry said, and before Louis could reply, Harry was shutting off his shower and pushing open the curtain to Louis’ cubicle. He was holding out a yellow shampoo bottle and grinning widely. Louis shrieked and grabbed the curtain to cover himself ten seconds too late. He tried not to look at Harry, who was standing there, looking mildly ridiculous with a shampoo mohawk and absolutely no shame. Louis definitely didn’t look below Harry’s waist, and he most definitely didn’t get a little hard thinking about it. No, he was too busy trying to process the fact that Harry was in his shower at all.

“ _Get the fuck out_!”

“Are you harassing the journo, Hazza?” Liam’s amused voice drifted across the shower room. Someone--probably Niall--wolf-whistled.

“If you’re having shower sex, at least wait until we’re out of the building,” Luke called from his stall by the door.

“That’s probably a bad idea,” Michael chimed in. Louis closed his eyes and grimaced. “Consent is sexy!”

“Yes, thank you for your contributions,” Louis said dryly. “Harry, thank you for the shampoo, but get the hell out of my shower and put that _thing_ away. Everyone else, kindly butt out.”

Harry grinned and strolled back to his shower; Louis inspected the shampoo bottle in case it was some elaborate prank. Finding nothing obviously wrong, he shampooed his hair and scrubbed his soapy hands over his arms while he was at it.

Across the room, Ashton started warbling out Katy Perry’s latest single. One by one, everyone else chimed in until it was only Louis who wasn’t singing. He added his voice when they hit the chorus the second time around and in a moment that proved the universe definitely hated him, he hit a perfect harmony with Harry in the stall next to him.

The whole song screeched to a halt, voices dropping off. Louis shut his mouth the moment he heard Niall stop; he held his breath and hoped no one had realized that had been him. He swore quietly and violently when he realized at least four showers were no longer running.

“The fuck was that?” Niall yelled, and Louis could hear him pushing aside the shower curtain. “Who the fuck did that?”

“Dunno but it was good,” Luke replied. At this point, Louis’ favorite was Ashton; he was quiet and didn’t start anything other than Katy Perry singalongs. Or Aiden, who seemed to be staying out of everything entirely. “Damn, who was that?”

“I think it was Louis,” Liam said, sounding a little impressed.

“Not me,” Louis called, hoping they’d steer clear. “Can we please just shower and get out of here?”

“Hiding something?” Louis’ curtain was jerked to the side and Louis caught a glimpse of Ashton’s grinning face. He took back everything nice he’d ever thought about Ashton. He jerked the curtain shut just as quickly and held the sides down, mentally berating himself for singing along.

“Jesus bloody fucking Christ, Ashton,” he said, trying to sound calm. “I think that could qualify as sexual harassment.”

“We’ll leave you alone if you sing again. Else I’ll crawl under.”

“No, no, no,” Louis yelled. “Stay out of my cubicle! The only person allowed in my cubicle is me.”

“What the bloody hell are you lot doing in there?” someone called from outside; it took Louis a second to recognize the voice as Eleanor’s. “Buses are set to leave in ten minutes and none of you are done?”

“Shitting fuck!” Michael yelled and suddenly the whole shower house was filled with water and frantically showering young adults.

“Just one song?” Harry asked from his stall, and Louis closed his eyes, considering. A reckless decision later, as he scrubbed his hair clean, Louis hummed the chorus to Battleships and sang the bridge when he rinsed off. Next to him, Harry listened, trying to place the song.

“Daughtry?” he asked when Louis had finished the last bar.

Louis paused, holding the towel around his waist. He’d thought the showers would have covered the volume of his voice enough that Harry couldn’t have heard it.

“Yeah, actually,” he said. “You a fan?”

“Chris Daughtry is an excellent songwriter,” Harry said. He rubbed a towel through his hair and reached for his clean shirt, tugging it over his head. “He’s great to work with. Not fun, he’s too intense for that, but he helped us write _Warfare_.”

“Hang on,” Niall said, emerging from his shower stall wearing a bright yellow pair of pants and nothing else. “Did you get Tommo to sing? Tommo, did you sing?”

“I didn’t think anyone could hear,” Louis protested and carefully stepped into his joggers, trying to keep the hem from getting wet. He failed and reached for his shirt. “And you knew I could sing. X-Factor, remember?”

“Yeah, but it’s been four years. Everything changes in four years. Second puberty, man," Niall said, looking scarily earnest for a man wearing Big Bird colored boxers and nothing else. "Second puberty.”

“Put some trousers on, Niall, Jesus,” Luke called, emerging from his stall fully dressed with his shower caddy over his arm. Louis folded his towel and stuffed his dirty clothes back into his shower bag along with his other toiletries. He gave Harry his shampoo back with a smile. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Harry said, and winked. “Or we could just share a shower and--”

Louis held up a hand. “Don’t push your luck and I might let you beat me at FIFA today.”

“Might? Let me?” Harry faked an offended expression but the crinkles by this eyes suggested amusement. “Oh, that’s it, you’re going down.”

“FIFA tournament on the bus,” Liam yelled. Aiden waved as he disappeared out the door. Louis noted to himself that Zayn had been remarkably quiet through this whole ordeal; the reason why was revealed when Liam shrieked after opening a shower curtain.

“The fuck, man?” Harry asked, looking at his bandmate.

“Zayn fell asleep in the shower again,” Liam said tiredly. “Whose turn was it again to wake him up?”

“Yours, Liam. Yours.” Niall clapped Liam on the shoulder as he passed. “Good luck, have fun.”

Eleanor gave them a funny look when they came out. “What the fuck did you lot do in there?”

“Showered?” Louis offered, wondering if it was a trick question. “And we’re going to go play FIFA.”

“And Zayn fell asleep in the shower,” Harry added, and started walking very quickly before breaking into a run. “Last one to the bus is a rotten egg!”

Louis and Niall exchanged glances, and then sprinted to catch up with Harry, Ashton and Luke not far behind. Ashton took the lead and tumbled into the bus first; Harry and Niall beat Louis and Luke. They piled in and put their things away, and got ready to move out.

Teasdale had settled into their forward lounge, Lux bouncing around the area happily. No one seemed to mind their presence; Louis wasn’t used to it, but he understood that it was a fairly common instance.

In fact, Harry and Lux set up the PlayStation and began a Very Serious game of Little Big Planet 2. Lux seemed to have better control of the in-game character than Harry did; Louis found it quite adorable how focused the two of them were on exploring the little animated world. At one point, Harry looked up and smiled at Louis over Lux’s pigtailed head.

Teasdale chatted easily with Liam, who blushed every time she brought up one of his exes and referred to them as conquests; Zayn sketched lazily. Niall, Michael, Luke and Calum all quickly got into a Pokemon battle. Ashton and Aiden both elected to take long naps; Louis relaxed into the sofa and observed everyone around him. He didn’t mind that they skipped the FIFA tournament; this was much nicer.

It was probably because of that quiet and calm bus ride that everything else that came later seemed like such a problem, when soundcheck that day was a complete disaster; Niall’s amp didn’t work, the stand for one of Liam’s mid-toms snapped, just folded like it was made of paper rather than metal; Michael’s mic stand kept collapsing on itself; someone had managed to misplace the necessary cables for the lighting crew to set up properly; two interviewers were double booked and glaring daggers at each other backstage.

Louis took it upon himself to clear out of the way so everyone could do their jobs; he settled near the back of the auditorium, feet kicked up on a worn seat.

From here, he could see the small figures on stage frantically trying to fix everything, get ready for the show in four hours. He knew everyone was busy, so he opened up his laptop and messed around on the internet for a bit, and practised a bit. He had killed half an hour when skype burbled with a call from Stan; he supposed he should probably answer, considering Stan was the one relaying information to his mum and sisters.

“I saw the interview,” Stan said, prefacing everything, bypassing greetings and other social formalities Louis had heard were typical and even polite. “Holy shit, shit, man. How’re you holding up?”

“Hi Stan, I’m fine, Stan, thanks for asking, Stan, how are you, Stan?”

“Whatever. Seriously though, how are you holding up?”

“Oh, you know,” Louis said, kicking his feet up and closing down the lyric website from where he’d been trying to memorize lyrics off The Diamond Rogue’s second album. “I just am? I talked with my manager, we’re working out a solution. It’ll either work out or it won’t.”

“I feel bad for telling you to stick around,” Stan said, looking guilty as hell. “He really treats you like that?”

“He played it up for the cameras, I think, but he does call me ‘pet’. He wants kisses, sometimes, takes my stuff, demands things in return. He turns into a limpet, sometimes. Stole my phone twice now, but also gives me tips on backstage etiquette? This morning he gave me shampoo when I’d forgotten mine, and then he spent three hours playing with his goddaughter, after being weird yesterday. It’s fucking bizarre. Eleanor’s getting involved, so that should be cleared up fairly soon. The others are pretty okay.”

Stan was still gaping in shock. “That fucking sucks, man.”

“It’ll get better.”

“What, are you trying to emulate that it gets better campaign?”

“Well, he’s not homophobic,” Louis quipped.

“That still fucking sucks. If it gets worse, you come home.”

“Funny, I didn’t realize you had any say over anything I did.”

“Ha-fucking-ha, Tomlinson. You know you love me.”

“Love Hannah more.”

“Of course you do.”

“Glad to see you admit it.”

They chatted and bickered for awhile, about everything and anything for twenty minutes until Louis’ skype burbled with an incoming call. Louis took one look at who was calling and bid goodbye to Stan.

“Hi, Hannah,” he said, answering the call.

God, it was good to see her. She looked the same as the last time he’d seen her, long blonde hair and a wide smile. She had dyed a wide pink streak in it at some point in the past three weeks; it suited her. This was the Hannah he knew, remembered, and loved.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” she demanded. “Is that a rogue Louis Tomlinson I see? Is it real? Is he wandering around in my timezone? Really, truly?”

“Speaking of Rogues,” he said. Hannah waved off his comment

“Stan told me. Where are you, baby boy?”

“I’m a bit big to be your baby boy,” Louis said, and she grinned, so wide and familiar.

“Yeah, yeah, Clark.”

“Shut up, Lois. I’m in San Diego, and I’ll be pinballing around the US for awhile.”

“Stop by and visit if you can,” she said, and there was nothing awkward or strange to him about possibly visiting his ex in her new home. San Francisco had been good to her; she’d gone for an exchange program and never come back. “God, you look good, Tommo. Got a lucky boy you’re hiding from me?”

“I wish,” Louis said. “How about you, Miss Walker?”

“No, nothing.” she sighed. “Gorgeous girl in my Biochem seminar, handsome boy in my OChem lecture, but, well. You know. The polyamory thing puts people off.” Her eyes sparkled, even through the shitty webcam. “It is what it is. But now, really. How’s my Clark Kent?”

“Missing his Lois,” he said, unashamed about it. “Trying to figure myself out in a new setting.” He paused, considered. “Hey, Hannah? I’m on--”

“Tour with The Diamond Rogue. Yeah, Stan told me. Hope you’re not mad.”

“M’a bit relieved honestly,” Louis said, settling back in his seat now that he’d admitted his secret to Hannah. “So you know what’s going on?”

“I think it’s stupid, but yes. You’ll do fine, baby boy. Just come clean as soon as possible.”

They chatted for awhile, catching up and getting each other up to date.

“Hey, Hannah,” he said, as they got ready to sign off. “I miss you.”

She grinned, wide and happy. “I miss you too, Louis. M’glad we figured everything out.”

“Yeah, me too. Justice League next time?”

“Count on it,” she said, and waved goodbye.

They signed off on that, and Louis closed his laptop, feeling restless and tired at the same time. He checked in with the others and sat in on the concert with a busy mind.

\--

 **@tommotwister** : anyone have any suggestions to cure homesickness?

 **@lickmeoutlois** : _@tommotwister_ : try hot milk.

 **@tommotwister** : @ _lickmeoutlois_ : that sounds disgusting.

 **@lickmeoutlois** : _@tommotwister_ : tea, then.

 **@tommotwister** : _@lickmeoutlois_ do you ever actually give helpful advice?

 **@lickmeoutlois** : _@tommotwister_ : rarely, and only on the third blue moon of a year. get some sleep, tommo.

\--

It was another late night and Louis found himself unable to sleep, so instead he sat up and wrote, lines of lyrics in a composition notebook.

He wandered into the hallway not long later and found a vending machine. He bought a packet of crisps with spare change and wandered back towards his room; he had started fumbling with the keycard when Aiden stumbled out of his room doing the same thing he just had. Louis offered a sleepy smile.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No, never, not on tour,” Aiden said, repeating what he’d told Louis before. “And I’ve got a song stuck in my head, which makes everything harder.”

“Which song?”

“Oh, it’s too sad, and it reveals my obsession with a certain band,” Aiden said wryly. “No, better not. You?”

“Deadlines, and it’s been a strange day.”

“There’s a lot of those around here,” Aiden said, shrugging. “Want to come hang out? Us insomniacs should take care of each other.”

Louis must have looked startled, because Aiden grinned. “I’ve got Netflix,” he sang, smiling. “I was going to watch _Ghostbusters_ for the eighteenth time, if you want to join me.”

Louis laughed and agreed; he waited for Aiden to buy his own snack and unlock the door. His room, like Louis’, was a single; unlike Louis’ the bed was perfectly made, the suitcase stacked by the dresser entirely untouched.

“You don’t like tour, do you?” Louis asked.

“Observant, aren’t you? No, not so much anymore. I’m older than all the others--only a few weeks older than you. December 4th.”

“December 24th,” Louis said. “‘91?”

“‘91.” Aiden settled onto his bed, folding his legs beneath him and somehow making the motion look elegant. “I’m nearly three years older than Harry, and the others are closer to him in age. It’s not that age is the problem, per se. We’re just different levels of life, right now? I don’t know if that makes sense. I’m saying it all wrong.”

“No, it does,” Louis said. “Like, they still want to roll around and play, and you want stability and a nine-to-five.”

“I don’t know about the nine-to-five,” Aiden said, opening his laptop and typing in a long, complicated password. “But more or less. I loved tour, the first few years. But I made peace with my anger, and they haven’t. I want to go home every night, and they want to explore the world more. I’ve got someone waiting on me back home, and...well, they haven’t. I miss h--I miss them, and to be honest, I’d rather do this with them. It’s not that I don’t love the Diamond Rogue boys, but...it’s not fun anymore. Not in the way it used to be.”

Louis nodded, and understood. It had happened to some of his older mates; they’d decided it was time for settling down with families and careers, not for wandering around the globe. Stan was starting to cross that line, but Hannah and Louis had remained firmly on their adventurous side. It was life, though Louis wasn’t sure it would ever happen to him

Aiden set up his laptop while Louis put notes in the margins of his composition book.

“Does it hurt, how they’re sometimes your friend and sometimes not?” Louis asked.

Aiden froze. “Are you asking for the article or yourself?” he asked, voice carefully neutral.

“For myself, though I am trying to figure out what to think of them.”

Aiden laughed, a dusty dry thing that felt scared. “If you haven’t got an opinion by now, you’re really not paying attention.”

“Oh, I have an opinion. I’m obtaining background information.”

“Then you don’t need my opinion,” Aiden countered. “It’s biased.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Everything’s biased.”

“That it is.”

“Tell me as a friend."

That gave Aiden pause. “Depends what you mean by _friend_.”

“Someone to talk to, laugh with,” Louis offered. “Someone who shares.”

“I think everyone’s got a right to secrets,” Aiden said finally. “If a friend means abandoning that, I think I’m alright. But to answer your question: it does kind of hurt, sometimes. We were very close for quite a long time, but everything went to hell. Everyone took sides, but sometimes they forget and it goes back to the way it was. It used to be they’d take shifts to stay up with me when I couldn’t sleep, but that hasn’t happened for six months now, and I can’t ask them to. Didn’t we cover this last time, Journo?”

“I figure if I keep asking I might eventually get the truth,” Louis admitted.

Aiden snorted, in spite of himself. “Keep dreaming,” he said. “Try again at the end of tour and I might. Movie?”

\--

Niall was pretty laid back, something Louis honestly appreciated. When Harry and Michael organized a paintball outing with all the band members and half the crew, Louis begged off, citing deadlines. Without Louis, there was a shortage on one team and so Niall agreed to stay back.

The two of them had the whole floor to themselves; they set up in Niall and Liam’s room, Louis commandeering the desk and Niall sprawling out on his bed. Louis put his headphones in and spent an hour going over the sheet music in his binder. When the notes started swimming in front of his eyes, he got up and stretched, then ducked into the bathroom for a drink of water and a wee. Niall had been watching something on his laptop but now dragged an armchair over to the desk.

“How goes it?” he asked, nodding at Louis’ binder. He was plowing his way through a gigantic bag of crisps; he licked flavored powder off his fingertips as Louis fetched a glass of water. When Louis came back, Niall was paging through Louis’ sheet music.

Louis froze.

“You’ve got the bridge wrong in _Molotov_ ,” Niall said, pointing out the spot in question. “Officially, it’s right, but we sing it differently live; ever since Harry came out we sing ‘love’ or ‘babe’ rather than ‘girl’. We never re-recorded, but that’s just a heads up for you.” Niall grabbed Louis’ pen and made the correction.

Louis decided to just go with it. “I can only work with what I’m given,” he said, sitting back down.

“Yeah, but between you and me, I wrote half this stuff,” Niall said. “I’m a resource, mate. Use me.”

“You might want to rethink that last sentence,” Louis told him. Niall blinked, laughed.

“Nah, mate, I don’t swing that way. That, and Harry might eat me alive if I tried. Right, so, the lyrics in _Molotov_ are off, so let’s see what else is incorrect.”

Niall fixed three more errors in various songs; then he spent ten minutes staring at a copy of _Flyby_ , trying to decipher it.

“Your vocal coach,” he said, “is a fucking idiot. Fire him.”

“That would imply I have one,” Louis said dryly. “I’ve been working with myself and Eleanor. And Paul, occasionally.”

Niall rolled his eyes. “Right, well, I’ll be doing that from now on.”

Louis leaned forward, pulling the binder towards him. “How’d you figure it out?”

“Weren’t that hard,” Niall said cheerfully, spinning the pen between his fingertips. “You sang, you’re here at this exact time, and I recognized your voice. Putting two and two together was easy enough.” He shrugged. “Right, I want to hear you try to do Molotov because it took Aiden six _weeks_ to get the high note at the end right and I’m not letting you slaughter my precious song.”

Niall turned out to be brutal in his assessment of Louis’ skill; it took him half an hour to even admit Louis was remotely improving. They only stopped when Niall’s mobile beeped, reminding them they had to get to the venue for soundcheck within the next half-hour.

“Wanna go early and check out the venue?” Niall offered. “No one will be there yet and I can show you the backstage mechanics as a proper showrunner should.”

They roped one of the security team into driving them the ten minutes to the venue---Niall’d never bothered getting his license and Louis wasn’t legally allowed to drive in the United States--and found themselves with forty free minutes due to traffic preventing the rest of the band from arriving on time.

They dicked around in the corridors for awhile, finding Niall’s Segway and spending fifteen minutes racing each other, foot vs Segway, down the backstage corridors until Paul yelled at them to knock it off.

Bored, they found the backstage area for meet and greets and bounced around there for awhile, until Niall elbowed Louis.

“You know, everyone’s out right now,” Niall said, gesturing to the empty stage. A few techs darted around, adjusting lights and mics, amps, kits, pedals, everything. “If you want to come check it out, you could.”

Louis bit his lip, then nodded. He stood and followed Niall out onto the stage, in the big, empty stadium, the echoing arena.

“This is where you’d stand,” Niall said. “Aiden’s blue tape, so that’d be you too. Harry’s pink, to your left. I’m dark green, there; Zayn’s the yellow, behind you, and Liam stays back there.” He turned, touched the mic stand. “They’re set up for 5 Seconds of Summer now. Purple’s Michael, orange is Calum, Luke’s the lime green. Ashton’s at the kit so he doesn’t move much.”

Louis took it all in, eyed the tape markings. He stood on Aiden’s starting point, the blue X marking where the mic stand would go for his set, and looked at the arena, tried to imagine it full.

“You think you could?” Niall asked.

Louis imagined, and knew. “I think so.”

“Then we’ve got work to do.”

Louis groaned. “Why does all of this involve work?”

Niall laughed with his whole body, shoulders shaking and head tilted back, the sound echoing in the large arena. “Well, the idea is that you work so much it starts becoming fun,” he said, and gestured to the side of the stage, still chortling. “Come on.”

\--

“Where are you going?” Harry asked as Louis packed up his stuff from the greenroom; Niall eyed them with distrust as Eleanor tapped her wrist and gestured to the door.

“Nowhere,” Louis said automatically and a bit absently.

“Then why are you packing up your stuff?” Harry demanded, grabbing Louis’ wrist. Louis shook him off and shot him a glare. Harry blinked sheepishly and withdrew his hand.

“Maybe I’ve got a date,” he said. “Maybe I’ve been working twenty-four/seven for the past three weeks and this is my day off.”

“But Eleanor?”

“Maybe it’s her evening off.”

“Eleanor doesn’t have evenings off,” Zayn said from the where Teasdale was styling his hair. “She’s an android. She doesn’t sleep, eat, or take breaks. Ever. ‘Cos she’s an android.”

Eleanor coughed from the door. Zayn paled and snapped his mouth shut. “Coming, Tomlinson?”

Louis called out an affirmative and swung his computer bag over his shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you lot after the show,” he said. “See you later?”

Harry pouted and flopped into a spare chair; Louis rolled his eyes and started off down the hallway, following Eleanor, who was already halfway down and heading for the bus bay.

“Hey, Journo!”

Louis turned around to see a perfectly performance ready Aiden following him down the corridor. Louis pulled up short and stared at the other man quizzically; Aiden caught up easily enough.

“You might want to reconsider rescheduling your whatever this is with Eleanor,” he said, not meeting Louis’ eyes. “I promise you won’t regret it if you stay.”

“Aiden, I’ve seen the show a dozen times now. I’m not going to miss anything new.”

“It’s a bad night to miss,” Aiden insisted, fidgeting with the collection of bracelets around his wrist.

“And it’s a good night for me to do...this. I have stuff I need to get done, and I can’t do it if I’m always spending my evenings at concerts. I really do need to go do this with El, and it really can’t be rescheduled.”

“It’s a really fucking bad night to miss,” he repeated quietly. Louis shrugged.

“I have to go tonight, I can’t switch it out,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not me you’ll have to apologize to.” Aiden’s expression was solemn, but he let Louis catch up with Eleanor.

Apparently, Aiden was right: it was a bad show to miss. Louis’ phone blew up with Twitter mentions; Hannah helpfully forwarded him a video of Harry performing a cover. Eleanor crowded into Louis’ personal space to watch the video on the small screen as they travelled back to the venue.

“ _As you all know_ ,” Harry said, voice tinny through the speakers and barely audible above the crowd screaming around whoever was filming. “ _We typically do a cover every show. All of us pick a song and at some point on the tour, we perform it_.”

Louis rolled his eyes; he knew that. The crowd just screamed louder, though; Eleanor looked entirely nonplussed. “Right, he’s performing a cover. What of it?”

“ _The song we’re doing tonight is my pick, and if I’m perfectly honest, it’s not what we’d planned originally. So bear with us if it’s a bit rough; we’re still working out the bumps. It’s not our normal fare, either, it’s a bit slower. Still with me?”_

The crowd roared in approval; Eleanor was worrying her lip now, trying to figure out what Harry was doing. Louis didn’t move, scared of what would come next.

“ _Now, this is a love song, which we do do, but I think this particular band does so much better than we do_.”  There was an outcry of protest from the crowd and one out of place “ _I love you, Harry_!”; Harry held up a hand to stop them. “ _This song is dedicated to a certain special someone; they’ll know who they are, and I bet you’ll know who they are too. This is_ If I’m Gonna Fall In Love _, originally by A Rocket To The Moon_.”

“Is he--” Louis started.

Eleanor rubbed her temples. “He performed a song for you at a concert. Look up the lyrics, please. I need to know what kind of damage control I need to do.”

Louis knew the song already but he pulled up a tab anyways just as Harry sang the chorus line about a rolling stone.

“Jesus Christ, he’s really dropping hints, isn’t he?” Eleanor said. “Right, I’ll be having a talk with him about being creepy.”

“No,” Louis said. “It’s sort of sweet, in a way.”

“He still needs to back off a bit,” Eleanor said. “Especially if you’re going to be working together in the future.”

Louis winced. “Right.”

Eleanor started tapping madly on her phone, apparently trying to figure out how to best contain the situation; she paused and looked at Louis seriously.

“How big of a problem do I need to be dealing with here,” she said carefully. “Are we talking one-sided crush, infatuation, restraining order?”

“It’s not one-sided,” Louis admitted. “I’m mostly trying not to think about that, though.”

“And are you planning on staying?”

Louis exhaled sharply, considering all sorts of things and the song sung for him. “Can I get back to you on that?”

Eleanor gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I can give you a week,” she offered. “But I need to know by then.”

Louis nodded, exhaled again. “I’ll let you know by a week,” he promised.

“Good,” Eleanor said. “Now, for the love of God, don’t tweet anything about how that song was definitely for you.”

\--

 **@tommotwister** : that was unexpected.

 **@staandaamaan** : _@tommotwister_  you okay, mate?

 **@tommotwister:** _@staandaamaan_ why wouldn’t i be? long day out with _@eleanorjcalder_ , is all.

 **@lickmeoutlois** : interesting turn of events. _@superkentclark_ what’s going on?

 **@superkentclack** : _@lickmeoutlois_ everything’s a bit insane at the moment. text me?

 **@lickmeoutlouis** : _@superkentclark_ don’t have your mobile # dummy, dming you now

 **@lickmeoutlois** : holy fucking shit _@superkentclark @tommotwister_ not sure which one you’re on but holy god what the fuck

\--

Since the show was already over, they just headed back to the hotel. Eleanor deposited Louis at Niall’s room, where the band was hanging out; to Louis’s surprise they were all dressed to go out.

“We were going to find this place Dan swears by since we have tomorrow off,” Niall explained. “Wanna come with?”

“I’m wiped,” Eleanor said. “But you should take Louis, kick back a little. It might be fun.”

Louis shrugged. “I’m game, but only if you’re sure.”

“Half the crew is coming,” Zayn called from inside the room. “But Aiden’s staying behind, so you could too without shame.”

Louis rubbed his eyes. “I think I’ll pass tonight. Some other time?”

Some other time came a week later, somewhere in the northern Midwest of the United states, in a city whose name Louis couldn’t remember other than it began with D.

Eleanor gave him an afternoon off, and then gave herself the afternoon off. “Good, I needed a break,” she said, half an hour into the two of them sprawled out on the venue’s dressing room floor and doing absolutely, blissfully, nothing. Louis was half-asleep and considering the values of a nap. “I’m going to spend the evening in with a movie and overpriced wine from room service, and maybe a pizza. You need to do something with the TDR boys and either get people used to you being around, or at least start dropping hints.”

“We went paintballing three days ago,” Louis pointed out. “And I’ve been in like...ten of Harry’s vines.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “I mean, like just you and the four of them, so you’re not just one of the guys tagging along.”

“You told them that they’re taking me out drinking, didn’t you?”

“Might’ve done.”

“Definitely did,” Louis shot back. “Shit, when are we going?”

“You mean when are you going?” Eleanor  shrugged, or tried to, her shoulders scraping along the carpet. “Fuck if I know.”

“You little shit,” Louis said, rolling over and poking Eleanor in the side. She curled up instinctively, trying not to laugh; and, well, that was just an invitation, wasn’t it?

Their lazy chat turned into a tickle war, and Eleanor had him pinned face down and was tickling him violently when the door opened.

“Okay then,” Liam said, blinking at them. “I’ll just--go.” He practically ran out the door, tripping on his way out.

“That was weird,” Louis said. “Can I get up now?”

“I’m trying to figure out how high I want to set my price,” Eleanor said. “Fairly certain I can get a foot rub out of this.”

“Ew, no.”

“You could plait my hair?”

“I have four little sisters, I am never fucking plaiting hair ever again. Also, why the hell would I agree to that?”

“Oh, I know. You can get me a bag of crisps from the vending machine.”

“That I can do.”

\--

Eleanor was in the lobby with the gathering tour members as everyone prepared for their rare night off. She watched the way Harry followed every movement Louis made with his eyes. He’d nearly lost his jaw to the carpet when Louis had joined them in the lobby, dressed for a night out. That was okay; Louis had done the same the second Harry had turned away to talk with Niall.

Harry hadn’t been prepared for Louis when he was dressed to go out. So far he’d seen Louis in casual business clothes--a lot of button down shirts, neat slacks or clean jeans--and comfortable casual clothes--sweatpants, joggers, t-shirts, pyjamas--but never _going out_ clothes.

“Are we going?” Louis asked, grinning. He clearly knew how good he looked. Harry wanted to lick him.

“We were just waiting on Liam and--Sophia, isn’t it?”

“I can never remember,” Niall admitted. “I stopped keeping track after he broke up with Danielle.” He stretched tall and bounced on the balls of his feet, buzzing with nervous energy.

“It’s not Sophia,” Zayn said boredly, not looking up from his mobile. “They’re ‘ _on a break_ ’ now. This is someone named Meghan, or something?” Zayn exhaled, long and slow, looking at his phone as if staring at it would make it ring. “I don’t particularly want to go out.”

“You can stay with the 5SOS boys,” Harry pointed out, moving to stand near Louis. “They’re organizing that Harry Potter movie marathon for everyone who isn’t coming out or enjoying their free night.”

Harry leaned into Louis, the two of them braced against the wall. Zayn said something in reply, but Harry wasn’t paying attention. “You know what you look like, pet?” Harry asked, moving in closer and delivering a soft smack to Louis’ arse. Louis sharply elbowed Harry in the stomach. “Oof, only asking.”

“Stop molesting Louis,” Eleanor ordered, glaring at them. “We need him in one piece. No breaking him.”

Harry pulled away with a slight sigh, sauntering over to talk with Liam. He kept flicking glances over to Louis though, as if he were being subtle. Louis was just as bad--while he chatted with Dan, he was very clearly trying to listen to Harry’s conversation, being about as tactful as an elephant in an antiques shop.

Eleanor looked between the two of them, considering. That reaction could be a problem-- _would_ be a problem. Harry was acting like an idiot schoolboy, and Louis was being intentionally oblivious. Fans were already wondering if the two of them were an item; if they were going to work together as bandmates, they needed to work out their sexual tension. That, and people needed to see them together, start wondering if this was the new lead singer. There was no downside to this idea.

When Liam and his most recent fling finally made an appearance, Eleanor helped herd them all into the pair of vans going out, complete with security and retreated to her room for a relaxing night of not dealing with anyone else’s bullshit.

It was two am when someone banged on her door nearly loud enough to wake the entire floor; she stumbled out of bed, groaning. The last thing she wanted to deal with at the moment was a noise complaint from other hotel residents. Waiting outside her door were five very drunk young men.

“Louis lost his room key,” Niall explained sheepishly. “Or. We all did?”

“Ellie!” Louis shouted, stumbling and clearly drunk off his face. She glared at him but didn’t say anything; a night out with a possessive Harry Styles would drive her to get shitfaced as well. Louis squirmed out of the light grasp Harry had on his waist and tackled Eleanor in a hug, clinging to her and burying his nose in her hair.

Behind them Harry made an upset grumbling noise. Louis ignored it and curled into Eleanor’s shoulder. “You smell nice,” he mumbled into her ear, voice pitched low enough only Eleanor could hear it. “Like my mum.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes and carefully maneuvered him so he wasn’t so close to licking her ear. “You are _drunk_ , Lou. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” She levelled a glare at the band. “Wait here; I’m not done with any of you, and I think you’d rather have this conversation _now_ than tomorrow at six am when you’re all hungover.”

Wincing, the four Diamond Rogue boys sat in the hallway, leaning against the walls and each other.

“We fucked up,” Niall said.

“Oh, no shit,” Zayn replied, raising an eyebrow and staring Niall down. “At least half of this is your fault.”

Niall shrugged. “No shame in cocktails or pints.”

“On a scale of one to Belgium how dead are we?” Liam asked, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“At least France 2012,” Harry said, slumping until his feet touched the other side of the hallway and only his shoulders were bracing him against the wall. “Or Australia 2011.”

Everyone winced and fell into a nervous silence.

“What did you _do_ to him?” Eleanor snapped, coming out of Louis’ room and folding her arms, glaring at each of the boys in turn. “I said take him out and have a good time, not get him plastered and drug him with something!” Liam and Niall both tried to scoot away but stopped when she gestured angrily at them.

“Don’t see why you’d care,” Harry grumbled.

“I care,” Eleanor spat, “because if he chokes on his vomit in his sleep, I have to deal with it. If he dies in his sleep, I have to explain to Rolling Stone how we killed one of their journalists. I have to deal with the publicity of the members of The Diamond Rogue getting an innocent journalist hooked on drugs! What none of you seem to realize is that your actions have consequences, and I _already_ had to phone your publicity managers to make sure none of this gets out, although as you were with a _journalist_ , it’s already going to get out!”

Zayn and Liam at least looked repentant. Harry only scowled defiantly and Niall looked confused.

“He can handle his liquor,” Niall said, blinking at Eleanor. “He said so himself.”

Eleanor leveled him with a narrow glare. “If you were meeting celebrities you respected and got invited to party with more celebrities you admired, and then were provoked by one Harry Styles, how hard would you pretend?”

Niall’s expression dropped as he understood. Harry remained defiant while both Zayn and Liam looked appropriately cowed.

“Louis is new to this,” Eleanor told them, her voice softening. “He’s a journalist, not a rockstar. He’s doing his job; he’s not here to make friends or date, even though some of us might think otherwise,” she added, directing a particularly harsh glare at Harry, who refused to meet her eyes. “He might have been exposed to some of this in uni, but definitely not on the scale you threw him into. When you first started, could you have handled a party like that?”

All four boys shook their heads no, and Eleanor sighed, moving to sit next to Harry. “Louis is doing his job. I don’t know, maybe you’ve made friends with him and that’s okay, but you’ve got to remember that this tour is your job and his interviews and observations with you is his. If you’re harassing him, he can’t do his job properly, and he’ll end up writing an article where you look like assholes, and that’ll be it for your career. He’s from Rolling Stone, guys. If you want to get critics to stop saying you look like a teenybopper boyband, he’s your ticket to do so.”

There was a stunned silence, a strange kind of recognition. “You need to back off a bit. Especially you, Harry. I know he feels like a member of the band. I know we want to keep him around. I know he’s fun and he makes tour interesting again, but you can’t treat him like Aiden’s replacement.”

Liam shrugged helplessly. “Can’t we keep him, though?”

“He’s not a puppy, Payno.” Zayn gently bumped his bandmate and best friend with his elbow as if to show he was only partly joking.

“He’s a good singer,” Liam admits, tilting his head back and bouncing it against the wall, a light but steady _thunk, thunk, thunk_. “He’s professionally trained, you can hear it when he sings. Makes me wonder why he’s not already professional.” Niall kept his mouth shut but had a knowing look on his face; Eleanor shot him a glare that made Niall check his expression.

“Be that as it may,” Eleanor said, cutting off that line of discussion. “He’s not a pet or a toy, he’s a human being and he’s trying to understand the five of you and why you fell apart, and how a new member is ever going to fit in. He’s writing an article portraying you as you are. From a PR standpoint, be the aloof, cool rockstars we all know you are, but don’t be the assholes that drug up their journalist. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Aiden should be your role model right now. He hasn’t done anything that makes me want to murder him yet this tour, and all four of you have already got strikes.”

Harry did look ashamed at that.

“You have to live with him,” she told the four boys gently. “For at least two months more. He’s seeing you like no journalist ever has before. I know you’re good people, and I know you like to party and have fun. I know you’re excited to meet someone who doesn’t demand things from you. But he’s human, and he’s new. Don’t break him. Liam, Niall, Zayn, go to bed. Harry, stay here, we’re having a little chat.”

Liam, Zayn and Niall all started making their way towards their rooms, but Eleanor stopped them briefly. “Oh, and you’re all effectively grounded until PR and Paul decide what to do with you. Phones.”

Niall muttered an apology as he handed over his mobile; Liam and Zayn both clapped Harry on the shoulder before dropping their phones into Eleanor’s outstretched hand. She gave them each copies of their room keys, making a mental note to collect the original copies from their security team in the morning.

Eleanor waited until they were in their rooms to put the mobiles in her pocket. She turned to Harry and asked, “ _what_ is going _on_ with you, Styles?”

Harry shrugged loosely.

“You’re being a twat,” Eleanor told him. “I _know_ you’re not a twat, so obviously something is going on here.”

He only shrugged again, but there was a hopeless air to it this time.

“Is it because he’s your type? Is it because he looks like Aiden? Is it because he’s a journalist? Talk to me, Styles. I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, small and scared and lost. “I want him to pay attention to me. And. I want him to stay.”

“Oh, Harry,” Eleanor said softly, understanding. “You know you can’t keep him, right?”

“I know, but. I thought if I showed him what I could give him, he’d want to stay.”

“Some people don’t want to be given wild parties,” Eleanor said, and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in. “Some people want to have friends first, and they want to know what they’re getting into.”

Harry looked down in shame. “I don’t know how to make people like me anymore.”

“That’s a damned lie,” Eleanor said. “And you know it is, too. People like you, Harry. What they don’t like is when you put on that cocky swagger and try to convince everyone you’re better than they are. People like it when you post Vines and make bad jokes, and yeah, they do like it when you sing and wear fishnets on stage for the hell of it. But they like it not because that’s rockstar Harry Styles; they like it because it’s Harry goofing off again, because it’s Harry being himself. You want Louis to like you? Be yourself, and don’t try to be someone you’re not. And brace yourself for disappointment. He might not be around forever, and he might say no.”

Harry nodded. Eleanor sighed.

“Right, off to bed with you,” she said. “You’ll need to sleep off that hangover you’re due for in the morning, and you should probably give me your phone. Don’t think you’re not in trouble because we had a heart to heart.”

Harry handed over his mobile and shuffled into his room, the door closing with a foreboding click.

\--

Louis woke up with a dry mouth that tasted rather like socks and vomit, and his head rang with every embarrassing moment of last night.

Making things worse, Eleanor was sitting in the armchair next to his bed, hair messy and makeup undone.

“I crashed here last night,” she said. “I was dealing with the other boys and I came in to make sure you weren’t throwing up again, because if you choked and died it would be bad. Then I just fell asleep in the armchair? I don’t really know, I was exhausted.”

Louis shifted awkwardly, rubbing his forehead. Eleanor pointed to the painkillers on the table and he downed them with a grateful sigh.

“I’m sorry for how I acted last night,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “I’m sort of an affectionate drunk?”

“Oh, no, I figured that out,” Eleanor deadpanned. “The stripper thing was new, but…” she burst out laughing at the horrified look on his face. “Oh god, I’m _joking_. You were cuddly, but you tucked into bed easily enough. You did throw up twice, but you got the wastebin each time.”

“Yeah, well, going out with Stan and Hannah does that to you,” Louis grumbled, waiting for the painkillers to kick in. “You get ragingly drunk, and if you don’t learn to hit the can you end up sleeping in vomit.”

“I wonder if I could train the band boys to do that,” Eleanor mused, tapping a chipped nail to her lips. “Just let them throw up in their beds?”

“Well, it took two years to learn,” Louis admitted, wincing. “Did I dance with Harry last night?”

“Probably,” Eleanor said. “I wouldn’t be surprised. He had a bit of a breakdown when you got drunk and clung to me rather than him, but that’s Harry for you.”

Louis rubbed his head. “I’m really sorry about all this,” he said. “I caused a lot of trouble, didn’t I?”

“Well, it didn’t make any news outlets or tabloids,” Eleanor said dryly. “Kind of surprising since most of the world thinks you’re a journalist.” She sighed. “Can you help me with cleanup, at least?”

Louis shrugged. “I have no idea what I need to do.”

Eleanor handed over his mobile. “Check twitter and see if there’s anything I need to do damage control on.”

It took less than two minutes of scrolling for Louis to realize he didn’t really want to be in the _#harrystyles_ tag. Or the _#louistomlinson_ tag.

Eleanor laughed her arse off when he brought it up to her.

\--

Breakfast was awkward. Everyone was suffering massive hangovers from hell and practically no one was talking to each other, either from headaches or some over spat from the night before. Harry in particular was in a massive strop; he practically radiated anger, curly hair frizzier than normal, giant fuck-off headphones blaring music loud enough Louis could hear it from a meter and a half away.

Louis winced involuntarily. Harry had definitely been drinking last night and music that loud would be painful on its own; he could only imagine how much Harry’s head must hurt at the moment. When he stepped closer, Harry gave him a look of pure chilling anger, leaving Louis to stand in shock as Harry stormed away. Liam came to stand next to Louis, reaching for the coffee dispenser and filling an obscenely large mug with steaming brownish black liquid.

“He gets like that sometimes,” Liam said. “Haven’t seen him in a mood like this for awhile. I guess the last time would have been the Nick Grimshaw incident. No wait, it would have been Cara, I think.”

Louis looked at him quizzically. “Did I do something?”

“He seems to think you’ve slept with Eleanor,” Liam said, reaching for the cream and realizing his mug was entirely fully. Shrugging, he lifted it to his lips and slugged back at least half of the mug in one go, grimacing at the bitterness. Liam set his mug down and dumped a load of cream in and six packets of sugar in. “He really wants you, mate.”

“And that’s supposed to be flattering?”

Liam shrugged, a jerky motion that belayed tightly-wound tension in contrast to his easy words. “Look, Louis. I like you. Not the way Harry does, but you seem like a pretty cool dude. You’re a top bloke, really you are, but if you keep leading Harry on like this, I’m going to have to punch you, and it won’t be pretty.”

Louis frowned, sifting through his memories, trying to figure out what had happened the night before. “I didn’t sleep with Eleanor,” he said slowly. “Not that she’s not an fantastic woman and force of nature in her own right, but no, not into her like that? Wish I was, everything’d be a lot easier if I was, but, no, she was just making sure I didn’t die.”

It was Liam’s turn to frown. “But she spent the night in your room?”

“If she did, it wasn’t for sex,” Louis said bluntly. He looked down at the counter, contemplating toast and his queasy stomach. “And m’fairly certain she broke in and yelled at me for listening to you and drinking Niall’s death in a cup concoction.”

“But the girls you danced with?”

Louis shrugged, deciding dry toast wouldn’t revolt in his stomach too much. “Dancing’s fun. I dance when I’m drunk, with anyone and everyone. Just happened to be girls who wanted to dance. Also, Harry was being really creepy, and why the fuck does he have any say in what I do?”

Liam opened his mouth and then closed it, considering.

Louis sighed, tapping the side of the toaster and waiting for it to finish. “Look, I’m working. I’m technically in my workplace. Anything with any of you would be a conflict of interest--Eleanor and Harry included. And even if it isn’t a conflict of interest, it would call my work into question, and I just can’t do that.” Louis scrubbed his hands over his face and dug out a mug from the stack next to the coffeemaker. “So I’m sorry Harry is in a strop, and I’m sorry he seems to think it’s my fault, but I’ve made it very clear where I stand in relation to him, and he’s been ignoring that.”

“That doesn’t sound like Harry,” Liam said, sipping at his coffee.

“Well then he either doesn’t show you that side of him, or I’m just that fucking special.” Louis grabbed his toast from the toaster. “For the record? I like Harry. But I have a job to do, and so does he.”

\--

\--

Despite Louis’ hangover, he was still required to rehearse while the Diamond Rogue boys were dragged into an extended PR meeting with a disapproving Paul. Louis, still pretending to be a journalist, wasn’t allowed to sit in on that meeting and instead Eleanor took the sudden free time to run him through his paces.

Halfway through, Niall wandered in and explained that Harry was still being detained and the others had gone to sleep off their hangovers. He perched on top of an amp and watched Louis as he ran through the set. He was being profoundly unhelpful while pretending to be helpful, Louis thought in annoyance, and after ten minutes it was seriously beginning to get on his nerves.

“Brace your knee,” Niall yelled, circling as Louis did a dry run through _Molotov_. “If you’re leaning forward while singing like that, brace your knee for balance!”

“My knee _is_ fucking braced!” Louis called back, moving to hit his next mark. _Molotov_ was fast, angry, and required a lot of breath; they’d been doing vocal exercises and diaphragm exercises and breathing exercises, and at this point Louis could probably sing it backwards and in his sleep. It was by far the hardest to perform live, and Niall was determined that Louis get it dead perfect. Louis could sing it near flawlessly; the problem was blocking it out to Niall and Eleanor’s satisfaction. “I don’t know how much more bloody braced I can _make_ the damn thing!”

“No it’s not,” Niall retorted, moving to stand in his own spot. “Lift your feet, you’d be hitting cords!”

“For god’s sake, Niall, it’s not the bloody snake game!”

“It might as well be,” Eleanor yelled. “Move it, Louis.” Louis shot her a flying V and crossed four steps of taped out stage space to hit his mark for the long note in the bridge. Eleanor stopped the track entirely, standing up from her chair and stepping onto the stage space.

“Calm down, both of you. Niall, Louis usually stands like that when he’s braced. He’s got a different posture from both you and Harry. If I do this--” Eleanor suddenly rammed her shoulder into Louis’ back. He swayed but didn’t fall over. “--he’s fine. Louis, it is the damn snake game, if you step on a cord, you run the risk of disconnecting wires and fucking up the sound for the whole show. Feet up, don’t step on any wires, cords, cables, ad nauseum. We can always make you do what the rest of them had to do--if you step on a wire you have to kiss it. Embarrassing, but it actually works.”

Eleanor stood behind Louis and pushed his stance apart with her knees, pushing him so they were slightly bent and still braced. “This is sturdier and gives you better balance.” She pulled his shoulders back and pressed at his tailbone, straightening his back. “Straight back, tailbone and shoulder blades in line. I know you know this stuff, but you’re stressed and missing cues today, so refresher course. Niall, am I missing anything?”

“You’ve got most of it.” Niall leaned back, his shoulder blades against the wall. “Hey, Tomlinson?”

“Yeah?”

“Star Wars or Harry Potter?”

“Fucking _what_  now?”

“Star Wars or Harry Potter,” Niall repeated, shrugging so his entire upper body lifted off the wall. “Which do you like better?”

“Harry Potter,” Louis replied, looking confused. Eleanor grinned, sitting crosslegged on the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Cadbury or Hershey’s?”

“Cadbury?”

“Top bunk, bottom bunk?”

“Bottom.”

“Skinnies or joggers?”

“Joggers.”

“Football or rugby?”

“Footie.”

“FIFA or Mario?”

Louis furrowed his eyebrows, thinking. “Mario,” he said finally. “But that’s a tough call.”

“Last couple,” Niall said. “Beyonce or Rihanna?”

“Beyonce.”

“Beatles or the Stones?”

“Beatles, are you kidding?”

Niall nodded to himself, breaking out in a wide grin. “You’ll fit in perfectly,” he said. Eleanor nodded in agreement.

Louis shrugged, sitting and drawing his knees up to his chest. “And if I don’t?”

“You will,” Niall said. “You’ve been thinking about it, right?”

“Would I be doing any of this shit if I wasn’t dead fucking serious?” He shifted, rocking back and then forward so his trackies weren’t bunched awkwardly under his arse. “I think the problem is...well. You know.”

“If you’re worried about fitting in, don’t. you’ll click,” Eleanor offered, sensing Louis’ nervous energy.. “This isn’t even an ego boost, it’s a statement. The only one who might be a bit hesitant is Liam, I think, but he’s always been closed off from everyone.”

Louis exhaled, considered everything, thought about throwing himself off a cliff and never looking back. “Alright. I’m staying. I’m staying.”

Niall whooped and wrapped Louis in a hug. “Mate, this is going to be sick.”

Eleanor smiled and nodded sharply. “I’ll get started on permanent contracts and all the base information you’ll need. We should start working up an official announcement. Louis, your lessons are getting bumped up.”

“Are we going to wait until we’ve got everything figured out?” Niall asked. “So everything’s clean cut and organized? No loopholes?”

Eleanor hummed, already in business mode. “Let’s get all our chickens in a row, first,” she said. “Today’s Thursday, so...we can get contracts and agreements all sorted out by Monday, I think, the offices aren’t always open on the weekend, so Monday at the latest and Saturday at the earliest. We can get the rest of tour sorted out, get the announcement organized, film a promo for the fans to get excited, do a five day countdown to the big reveal or something...once we get contracts signed, we can tell the rest of the band, so. Tuesday or Wednesday, I think. We talk to the band then, film promo on Thursday and Friday--I’ll start talking to Ben and see if he can’t come up with a concept for us--and we can have an official release starting that Saturday. We go public a week later with a big release and an interview, and we’ll be in motion for Louis to start taking over shows in LA, and then tour goes international with Louis as the lead.”

Louis looked a little sick. “That’s a lot of stuff.”

“It kind of is,” Eleanor said distractedly. “But it really could be worse. I think sometime next week we’ll see if we can’t work in some studio time. You’ve got to record that track for Punk goes Pop; that’d be a good introductory point for Louis.”

Niall stretched. “I’d forgotten about that. We’re covering the Hayley Williams-Zedd song, yeah?”

“Mm. Speaking of, could you make sure Louis knows that? I’ve got to go run paperwork through Paul.”

“Can I have a break?” Louis whined, head spinning. “To process, at least?”

“Nope,” Niall and Eleanor both said. Louis groaned and flopped backwards onto the floor. Maybe if he refused to get up they’d take pity on him. He had no such luck as Eleanor said something lowly to Niall, who barked out a laugh and then grabbed one of Louis’ arms, hauling him across the floor.

“Get up,” Niall ordered, bouncing on his toes. “And give me Molotov again. Brace your fucking knee this time, yeah?”

\--

Louis managed to get _that_ goddamned song stuck in his head and hummed it to himself everywhere he went for the next few days. He didn’t know why it happened now, ages after the fact, but there it was. Niall chortled every time he heard Louis humming the chorus. Eleanor ribbed him good-naturedly about it through the show in Winnipeg.

Liam definitely noticed and commented on it; Louis stammered out an excuse about the song being catchy and that it had gotten stuck in his head. Luckily, Liam bought it.

It was a bit worrisome when Louis found himself singing it in the bus kitchen and Calum sleepily wandered in and gave him a thumbs up.

“Wasn’t that the song Harry sang for you?” Calum asked, drowsily staring at the contents of the fridge. “Also, is Canadian milk good in the US?”

“I think it should be,” Louis said, avoiding the other question as hard as he knew how. “But you’ve got to get it out of the bag.”

“Fucking bagged milk,” Calum agreed mildly, and pulled out the carton of orange juice instead. He drank from the carton and wandered off with it. Louis would not have been surprised to find Calum in his bunk, cuddling with the carton later on. It had happened before: Calum before noon did not make rational choices, Louis had learned.

Louis looked at his hands, started humming the fucking song again, stop humming it, considered the implications, and came to the decision that he was entirely fucked.

Harry was the next person to come into the kitchen and he looked rather disturbed. “Did Calum just go into the bathroom with the orange juice?”

“He just left here with the orange juice. What he does with it I’m not going to question,” Louis said, and shared an exasperated look with Harry before hurriedly making excuses and going to have his own private freakout in his bunk.

\--

Harry was tired of tour, and he was tired of all the bullshit that came with tabloids and fans alike demanding to know who he was dating, what he was doing with his life, everything he never wanted to offer them. Unfortunately, Louis Tomlinson reminded him of all those things--he was a journalist whose job was to write all about Harry’s life, and Harry wanted him and Louis was continuously sending mixed messages--and this morning Louis had run out of the kitchen as fast as he could when Harry had gone in search of breakfast.

So when it came time to pile in the vans to head out to interviews and the arena, he gave his seat to Eleanor’s assistant and choose to ride with Dan and Josh in the techie van.

“Any particular reason you decided to grace us humble commoners with your presence?” Josh ribbed, elbowing Harry lightly. “Not that we don’t love you, Hazmat.”

“Shut up,” Harry shot back, voice light and humorous. “Maybe I missed you guys.”

“Missed us my arse.” Dan had managed to claim shotgun, but now was twisted nearly halfway around in order to see them. “More like you weren’t getting anywhere with the journo.”

“That is bullshit,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “There weren’t enough seats in our van and drew the short straw.”

Josh tipped his head back and laughed. “Damn. Got me there. Point taken.”

Dan started up some inane conversation about the weather outside and the hot weather in the American South, as if it was a surprise to anyone. Harry tuned out when Dan started teasing Josh instead; he closed his eyes and allowed the tension to drain out of his frame.

He still liked Louis; hell, he thought he could possibly love the man, given enough time.  He was funny, he was sexy, he was tricky but generally cool headed even if he could be a shit at times. There was nothing about him that didn’t appeal to Harry. But. Eleanor had a good point in that Louis was there to document them, to write an article about them. He wasn’t there for Harry to--god, he felt so goddamn _stupid_ \--crush on.

That, and Harry still wasn’t convinced that Eleanor and Louis weren’t _something_. He’d always assumed Eleanor ran on redbull and the suffering of others; he’d never wondered if she had a boyfriend or a girlfriend somewhere. He’d never really considered it either; just like he’d never really considered if any of their crew had spouses, children, lives that they dropped just to come along and support The Diamond Rogue on their tours.

He tipped his head back, listed off the facts.

Louis had made subtle references to a girlfriend back home. He continuously skyped with a beautiful blonde girl and a handsome boy who made him smile in ways that made Harry’s heart leap. But. Eleanor had spent the night in Louis’ hotel room. Eleanor was always sneaking off with Louis. And then Louis had been dancing with anyone and everyone when they’d gone out clubbing last week.

It was confusing. Louis acted like he was in a committed relationship and then flirted with him and then went and spent the night with Eleanor. It didn’t make any sense, and it made Harry ache more than a little.

He opened a note on his phone, tapped out a rough sketch for an unrequited love chorus. He didn’t have time for anything else before they pulled into the venue and he put his game face on, ready to greet fans.

Really, though, he didn’t feel like doing much of anything.

The show that night would clear his head, hopefully. Performing always did, especially when he performed a new song.

Niall had been surprisingly helpful with this one. Usually he’d chip in and play devil’s advocate, picking at the cracks and taking the song apart in order to do some twisted kind of improvement on it. This one he’d helped write the guitar part and the drum part and let Harry take complete creative control, which was...strange.

As they prepped for the show, Liam sidled up to Harry and asked for confirmation; Harry nodded and signalled to Niall and Zayn.

This was a headfirst dive into something that would either land him a boyfriend or a mortal enemy for life.

Louis was laughing with Eleanor and helping the techs wire them up, checking cables. He’d been on tour long enough he’d been press-ganged into service, once they were sure he wouldn’t kill them all with incompetence. Louis actually helped Harry secure his mic pack tonight, carefully threading the earpiece up the back of Harry’s shirt, hands warm and deft and sure.

“You want to slip your hands any lower, there?” Harry asked cheekily. Louis snorted and delivered a swift slap to Harry’s arse.

“There’s your smack for luck. Now get out of my territory,” Louis teased. “But seriously, get Teasdale to fix your hair. You look like a family of sparrows decided to move in at some point.”

Like shows tended to do when he was nervous, this particular show dragged on. Harry worried he wouldn’t get the opportunity, but someone had apparently either been forcing Aiden to drink water for the past couple of hours or slipped him a laxative of some sort because halfway through their set, Aiden announced an urgent need to piss and excused himself, setting his guitar down and near sprinting off the stage.

“While we wait for Aiden, I’ve got something for you,” Harry said. Aiden paused, skidding to a stop, nearly tripping over Louis.

“Is he--” Aiden started, turning to stare at the stage. “Jesus Christ, Styles. The fuck are you doing?”

“What is he--”

“I’ve spent the past couple of weeks working on a song--we all have, actually--and we’d like to road test it.” There was a completely surreal moment of dead silence followed by a scream louder than Louis had heard at any show so far. “It’s never been recorded, and that’s because we only just wrote it this past week or so! Think of it as a preview for things to come. We like to call this song ‘ _Shut Me Down_ ’, and we’d like to share it with you. Mr Payne, if you will?”

“This song is fucking _fun_ to play,” Niall added, smirking as Liam flipped his drumsticks and clicked them over his head. The crowd went absolutely wild.“The new guy hasn’t heard it yet, but it was written with him in mind. We just decided to preview it a bit early.” The bastard even winked in Louis’ direction, and Louis resisted the urge to flip him off. Aiden was fuming, cursing under his breath and making unjustifiable threats before sprinting off to the toilet, still swearing.

The techs were freaking out--no one knew what to do for lighting or sound levels because they had never rehearsed this song. Aiden growled and clenched his fists as he came running back.

“He’s so fucking stupid,” Aiden snarled. “The fuck is he doing?”

The song itself was pretty decent. It was clearly unpolished but the lyrics were scathing; Louis would have loved it if he didn’t know it was written all about him and so spent the whole horrifying four minutes of it trying to come up with ways to punch Harry Styles in the face and get away with it. Next to him, Eleanor spent the four minutes going through what appeared to be the stages of shock, horror, and anger in turns while Aiden swore an impressive string of insults towards his bandmate.

At the end of the song through, the crowd cheered and Aiden made his way on stage again, smiling, as if he’d known all about it.

“What’d you all think of that incredible song?” he yelled. “I’m sorry to have missed that. Dammit, guys. You couldn’t have waited two minutes for me to have a piss?”

“Nope,” Zayn said, with a shit-eating grin. “Now howsabout we get on with the show?”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry said, and let everyone into the planned intro for the next song on set.

Louis spent the rest of the show stewing; when The Diamond Rogue came back off after an encore and Harry made his way over to Louis, he was near to boiling over with a lot of feelings he really didn’t want to deal with at the moment.

“So what’d you think?” Harry asked, practically bouncing on his toes.

Louis took a breath, looked Harry dead in the eye, and grabbed Harry by the lapels of his stupid leather jacket. Harry’s eyes fluttered closed, but they snapped open when Louis clocked him straight in the jaw with everything he had.

Chaos exploded backstage, with Harry clutching his hand to his jaw and a techie hauling Louis back to prevent him from punching Harry again.

“You hit me,” Harry said dumbly, gaping at Louis. “You hit me!”

“And I’ll do it again if you do something so stupid as that again,” Louis snapped, folding his arms.

“You’re fucking confusing, you know that, right?” Harry said back, more bewildered than upset; Louis could see the implications start to sink in and absolutely hated himself for it. Over Harry’s shoulder, Niall looked upset; Zayn was holding Liam back from charging headlong into the building fight between Harry and Louis. “Goddamn, dude. Get your head on straight. And thanks for leading me on, you massive prick.”

“I told you _no_ right from the beginning,” Louis said, and Harry rolled his eyes, huffing.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Whatever, man. Whatever.” Harry turned and strode off towards the exit corridor, blinking rapidly and breaking into a run not long after he was clear of the last staring tech.

Paul hurried off after Harry, shooting Louis a frustrated glare; Louis huffed and stormed off in the opposite direction, fully intent on getting lost and then getting drunk.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Eleanor snarled, grabbing him by his ear and hauling him into an unused dressing room. “The fuck are you doing with Harry?” she demanded, shoving Louis back into a chair and crossing her arms, looking pissed off and fed up with any level of bullshit anyone wanted to throw her way. “And why the bloody fuck did Paul just have to go haul Harry back from committing suicide by throwing himself into the fan mob?”

Louis slumped down, folding his arms and sulking. “He’s being a douchebag.”

“No _shit_ , Sherlock. What I want to know is why the hell you’re being a douchebag in response.”

Louis didn’t really have a response for that.

“Jesus Christ, Louis. I know Harry is a shit sometimes, but he’s a well meaning shit and you’ve got to learn to work with him.”

“Is that really a requirement at this point?”

Eleanor folded her arms. “It is. You’re not a quitter, Louis, and you didn’t make everyone go through this much work for you to drop out at the last minute. You can do this, and heaven help you if you don’t.”

“How do we know it’s not going to go to shit?”

“Because you and them, you mesh like no one I’ve ever seen, and it’d be a fucking shame to waste that,” Eleanor nearly yelled. Her expression softened when she saw Louis scrub his hands down his face. “Look. If anyone has a chance of making this work out, it’s you. Harry’s timing with that was shitty, but so was your reaction.”

Louis closed his eyes. “I’m not apologizing.”

“One, you should, but two, I’m not expecting you to. But keep in mind: you’re supposed to be telling them tomorrow,” Eleanor said, sitting across from Louis.

“Everything was going fine, until he pulled this.” Louis opened his eyes and blinked, trying not to cry from sheer stress and frustration. The bone-deep exhaustion from this whole...whatever, probably wasn’t helping either.

Eleanor put her hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Hey. Breathe with me. It’ll be fine. They like you, and you’ve got talent and skill to back you up. You’ve put in a lot of work to this. Niall will back you up. You’ll be fine.” Louis bit his lip, holding back tears. It didn’t work well to stifle the tears, but it kept him from sobbing out loud. “I’m sorry. I know it sucks, but we’ll find a workaround.”

Someone knocked on the door; Eleanor stood and shooed them away quietly. Louis heard the words “homesick” and “stressed” and “fucking creepy, really” before she came back and sat with him.

“Niall’s worried,” she said, rubbing a soothing hand over his back. Louis felt horrible because he was upset enough to cry, and humiliated because someone was seeing him have a fucking meltdown over Harry Styles writing him a song, of all things. “But Harry’s bunking in the support crew bus tonight so you’ll be left alone.”

“Can we wait a bit, before we go back?” Louis asked quietly, trying (and failing) to keep his voice steady.

“We really can’t,” Eleanor said apologetically, smoothing his hair down. “Bus call is in about fifteen minutes. Just breathe a bit, and then we’ll go.”

Eleanor guided him towards the buses and deposited him there; Louis immediately crawled into his bunk and closed the curtain tight, trying to ignore the confused and angry voices of his future bandmates.

Louis sniffled, and wondered why doing the right thing by definitively turning Harry down felt so completely and entirely wrong.

\--

Breakfast at a roadside diner was quieter than usual, with everyone having taken sides and sending glares at the other offended party. A few fans stopped them for photos and autographs but seemed to sense that this was not a good time to linger; paps tried to get photos of Harry emerging from the bus, but as Harry had kipped out on Bus 2, they were out of luck. Showers were quiet, without the loud singalongs Louis had come to associate with these stops, and he felt guilty for shaking up everyone's routines.

At the venue, Eleanor stopped him. "You're telling them today, right?"

Louis raised an eyebrow. "Today? You're sure?"

"We really can't delay any longer," she said. "You've got to start working with them--there's not much more you can do individually. Harry will have to deal."

"Shit," Louis said, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Right. Today. Okay."

"It's not like you'll perform today," Eleanor said. "You've just got to _tell_ them."

The Diamond Rogue rounded the corner, and Louis stared at them for a split second.

“I’ve got to...go,” Louis said, and hurried off. Harry blinked and chalked it up to Louis being pissed off over the song last night. Eleanor went with him; the rest of them found their respective mics and instruments set up by the side of the stage and got to work checking tunings and sound levels. They were quiet for a good ten minutes, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

“Isn’t he new guy due to show up today?” Liam asked as he checked his drumsticks over for cracks. Usually they didn’t show, but it was a hassle when they broke on stage.

“It’s weird, we haven’t really heard from him,” Harry said. His jaw was a little bruised, but Teasdale had done an excellent job covering it up.

“I know he was pissed off and really fed up with the whole process,” Niall ventured, ignoring the puzzled looks from his bandmates. “I’ve been working with him for awhile now. It was going well for awhile, but there’ve been some...personal circumstances.”

“Which means the new guy’s not showing up then,” Aiden said, dragging a hand down his face. He looked tired, resigned to the idea that he would still have finish out this tour. “Fuck.”

"No, he is," a voice said from behind them, and everyone turned around in shock. Louis stood there in a tight black tee and bright red jeans, in-ears hanging over his shoulders as he adjusted a mic pack in his back pocket. "Been here for awhile, mate."

"What?" Zayn managed, after an impressively long silence, considering the location and the circumstances.

"Hm? I guess Niall didn't tell you. Hi, Louis Tomlinson, won the competition? The label put me on tour as a reporter to figure out if we'd click as people, since. Aiden had issues with that."

Aiden made an indignant noise, to which Louis replied with a deadpan look. Aiden replied in kind with an eyebrow raise, and Louis smiled sheepishly.

"He's a good singer," Niall pointed out. "We picked his application tape."

"That was _you_?" Harry choked out, hurt and anger simmering low in his gut.

Louis half-shrugged, one shoulder nearly touching his ear. “It was a really weird situation, let me tell you. I’m not entirely sure the people running that knew what they were doing.”

“This is not the time for joking around, Tomlinson,” Harry snarled. Zayn looked equally pissed.

“I’m not,” Louis protested. “I auditioned--sent in a tape and everything--and I didn’t expect to get called back, but I did. And then it kept happening, and it got down to ten of us, and then they picked me out of all of us. Then I got sent here.”

“So you pretended to be a _journalist_?” Liam said, looking betrayed and outraged. “Are you serious?”

“It was the best option at the time,” Louis said, and squared his shoulders, standing his ground. “Obviously, circumstances have changed.”

Harry stormed forward, expression furious and ugly. “No shit. You lied to us,” he said, not yelling. Louis half-wished he would yell, and thought back to when he’d seen Aiden and Harry fight. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, because that was a profoundly _shitty_ thing to do.”

“I-” Louis tried to cut in, but Harry simply talked over him, coolly and profoundly furious.

“Were you laughing at us? Were you trying to make us look like idiots, telling everyone, no, you’re not the lead singer, and now every fucking fan is going to think we were lying! Was that your goddamn goal all along? Make us look stupid?”

“Harry,” Eleanor said sharply. All eyes turned to her as Harry fell sullenly silent. “He didn’t hide it on purpose, and he wasn’t the only one who didn’t tell you. Aiden, Niall, and myself all knew as well.”

Louis hadn’t known Aiden knew, but he wasn’t entirely surprised. Aiden seemed like he knew a lot of things people didn’t want him to. Now, Aiden looked exhausted and resigned; Harry, on the other hand, looked even madder, if that was possible.

“So he had my friends lying to me as well. Great. Just fucking great.”

Louis was done with this.

“Have you ever considered how terrifying you are as a group?” He said quietly, and everyone’s attention pinged to him. It was disconcerting, having such a mix of apologetic and furious looks directed his way. “How clear it was made to me that you would all hate me for just existing? Do you know how much I was told you would reject anyone who wasn’t one-hundred percent perfect, how everyone knew you were only accepting me as the new vocalist because you were being forced to at the risk of your careers? Do you have any idea how much pressure that is, being put into a group who don’t want you, and having everyone tell you that you wouldn’t last a week?”

He paused, taking in the expressions and the reactions around him; Harry was still tense, but Zayn looked more understanding now.

“Do you know how much pressure there is on me from the record company to make this work? If I don’t fit, if I don’t do this right, everything that happens from here on out is my fault, my responsibility. Harry’s still frontman, but I’m the new gear in the machine, and it’s my job to get this band back to what it could have been. I’m replacing a legend, who no one will actually explain why he’s leaving, and I was pretty much told from the out that I was guaranteed to fail. Wouldn’t you pretend, in order to get to know your bandmates too? And for the record,” he said, turning to leave. “I never lied. Go over everything I ever said: I never said I was a journalist. I said I was here to do my job, and my bosses picked me personally. Other people said I was a journo, other people said I was from Rolling Stone, but me? I never did.”

He left without another word.

\--

Niall found Louis sitting on the venue’s roof an hour later.

“That could’ve gone better,” he said, sitting next to Louis, dangling their feet over the edge.

“You don’t say,” Louis said dryly.

“He’s just nervous,” Niall said.

“Don’t make excuses.” Louis shrugged loosely, looked down to where the stage crew were busily double-checking everything was set up for soundcheck. “I fucked up, he overreacted, any excuse we come up with is just going to make things worse. And shouldn’t you be inside?”

“Probably,” Niall said. He bumped his shoulder against Louis’, offering reassurance. “I’m involved in this too; they’re a bit mad at me and Aiden at the moment, although being mad at Aiden is standard procedure.”

“Why’re you mad at him, honestly?”

“Not the time for it, but he kept some pretty big secrets from us for a long time, and it hurt a lot of people when it came out,” Niall hedged. “But what’re you going to do about it?

“That,” Louis exhaled, kicking his feet aimlessly. “I don’t know. What I can, I guess. Prove I know what I’m doing. Be so good he can’t say no.”

“Harry doesn’t get all the say, you know,” Niall said, a sneaky look in his eye. “Aiden gets to veto his replacement if he thinks it’ll tank the band, but he can also put his vote behind you. We’re a democracy of five. Simple majority rules, so three out of five. All we need is me, and Aiden likes you so you’ll get his vote, and then we just need to convince someone else.”

“It’ll have to be Zayn,” Louis said. “Harry’s not going to vote me in.”

“You might be surprised. But yeah, Liam will side with Harry, no matter what. If we can convince Harry we’d get Liam but Zayn would probably be the easier convert. He cares about music, plain and simple. If you’re good enough, he’d forgive almost anything. You just have to be good enough.”

“And then there’s that question,” Louis added. There was a scream from the queue forming outside the venue gates; fans had spotted them on the roof. “Maybe we should move?”

“Nah. Me and Luke do this sometimes, and the fans can’t always tell which one of us is which. It’s awesome.”

Louis shrugged again, staring at the crowd below. “Is it scary?” he asked, not looking at Niall.

“Performing?” Niall hummed. “A little. The first time.”

“No, I mean. Everything else?”

“Being a band, you mean?”

“Not even that. The fans, the interviews, the tabloids.” Louis smiled wryly. “I’ve seen the rags, you know.”

“Be hard to miss them,” Niall said. He leaned back on his elbows, the perfect image of someone completely at ease. “It’s hard, yeah. Always has been. Only got worse after Harry decided honesty was the best policy--not that I’m blaming him. People want more than we’re willing to give, and that makes it hard to trust anyone.” Niall sighed. “It helps, being in a band though. You’ve got a band of brothers going through it with you. But if the tabloids grab onto you, you’re on your own, and it’s the most lonely thing you can ever be.”

“But--”

“Not talking about Harry right now, mate, though maybe this gives you perspective. It’s scary, not knowing if you can trust your friends, if they’re going to sell you out or decide it’s too much hassle being your friend. You’re away from loved ones for long periods of time--just look at Aiden. It’s scary, not knowing what will be different when you’re back.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“Why’d you audition?” Niall asked, staring up at the sky. His posture was loose and relaxed but there was something about his expression that definitely wasn’t. “Why’d any of us audition? We’re doing things we love, and recording is amazing. Performing is the highest high in the world, maybe the universe. We’re a band of brothers, taking over the world, and it’s the most thrilling thing I’ve ever done.”

Louis nodded, and leaned forward, staring at the ground fifty feet below them. The silence hung between them, each lost in thought.

“You’re definitely sure you want to stay?” Niall asked some indefinite time later. The sky was blue, and Louis didn’t know what to think.

“It’s the most logical option though, isn’t it?”

“The most logical doesn’t always mean the best,” Niall said. He waved at some of the fans below; the screaming increased again. “And the best option isn’t the easiest. And if the logical thing isn’t what you want,” he shrugged. “Then don’t do it.”

“Are you high?”

Niall snorted with laughter, sitting up. “That would make everything more fun. Nah, you’d be better off asking Zayn that.”

Louis shook his head, laughing quietly. “No, I mean. If I say no, I’m selling myself short. I’ll be settling for something less. I’ve worked hard for this--I deserve it. But. If I say yes, I’m forcing you to settle for me.”

Niall glared. “Hey. We’re not settling for less. If anything, we’re getting an upgrade. I love Aiden, really I do, but he never quite clicked with us the way you do. Harry will get over it. Zayn will get over it. Hell, Liam will get over it.”

“But it’s not fair to Harry, is it?”

“Fuck fair to Harry,” Niall said plainly. Louis snorted out a laugh. “Look. This band has a shelf-life. Your newness has a shelf-life. If you get through a year, and you prove that you can do anything Aiden could do, and do it better, no one’s going to give a fuck if you or Harry is shagging. Or, you could do what Aiden’s doing, and just not talk about it, and no one would know. We’re not a boyband, Louis. We do music, and if your music is good, no one gives a fuck about who you fuck. Just look at Elton John.”

Louis laughed, and something eased in his chest. “Never settle for less, huh?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Niall said, drawing out his vowels. “Sounds like a good song title, right? You and me, let’s write a song tonight. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.”

Niall pushed to his feet, helped Louis up, held out his phone. “One thing real quick. We need to drop hints, right? Lemme take a photo of something really nonspecific, and you tweet something correlating. Get people thinking.”

Louis raised his eyebrows. “What’re you thinking?”

Niall grinned. “How do you feel about standing on the wall so I can get a shot of our shadows?”

\--

 **@niallofficial** : hangin out wit th new lad, had a blast!! _pic.instagram.com/p/fjsi29348nkso_

 **@tommotwister** : funny how shadows are you, but not.

 **@harryluv69** : OH MY FUCKING GOD RT _@tommotwister: “funny how shadows are you, but not.”_

 **@harryluv69** : NO BUT SERIOUSLY _RT @niall official: “hangin out wit th new lad, had a blast!! pic.instagram.com/p/fjsi29348nkso”_

\--

In the end, it came to a standoff.

Louis took a moment to consider the insanity his life had come to. He and Niall had been walking back towards the dressing room, where Niall had left his guitar; they’d been discussing lyrics and tempo for a songwriting session later.

They rounded a corner, Louis humming an idea for a melody line, and literally ran into Harry and Liam. As in, Louis’ forehead smacked into Harry’s chin ran into.

“Fuck,” Harry and Louis both muttered at the same time, shooting each other surprised and suspicious looks. Liam had spun out of the way just in time, sidestepping a collision with Niall, but he was very quick to pull Harry out of contact with Louis.

Niall cackled, looking between them. “You’re acting like he hasn’t earned the slot. Come off of it, Harry!”

“Make your case, and we’ll consider it,” Harry said imperiously. Liam scowled at Louis, and Zayn looked rather indifferent, although he was definitely standing with Liam and Harry. Aiden came up and stood next to Louis, clapping the younger man on the shoulder in a show of support.

“He’s good,” Niall offered. “Really fucking talented, and I’ve been in with him working on learning choreo and lyrics. He’s a fast study, picked everything up on the go while we were on tour. He could probably run a show on his own at this point.”

“Thanks, Niall, but we didn’t ask you,” Liam said cooly, folding his arms. “Louis, make your case.”

“Look,” Louis said, calmly and seriously, meeting Liam dead in the eye. Niall stood at his elbow, agreeing. “I can sing. You know that. I was in with El and Niall everyday learning choreography, lyrics, chord progressions, marks, timings, everything. I can hold my own. I’m not here to take over as frontman; that’s Harry’s job and he does it better than I ever could. But I know the words, I can entertain a crowd well enough and I’m a decent songwriter. When you didn’t know I was Aiden’s fill-in, you liked me, so why is now any different?”

Harry growled in frustration and pushed past Louis and Niall. “You’re not playing tomorrow, but we start rehearsals then.”

Niall turned and high-fived Louis. Aiden rolled his eyes. “Don’t celebrate yet. It’s going to be a lot of work.”

“Then we should start practising, right?”

“Well, _you_ probably should.”

“Oh, no, you’re helping us, Grimshaw.” Niall grinned and looped his arm through Aiden’s, dragging him towards one of the vans. “No point in showering, we’re just going to get sweatier and grosser.”

“Me being here is not going to make your case any stronger.”

“No, but I am your replacement,” Louis pointed out. “And who knows what you do better than you? So teach me.”

Aiden groaned. “I’m not getting much sleep tonight, am I?”

“You say that like you ever sleep,” Niall said cheerfully. “Come on, we’ve got a hotel night. I bet we can grab the gym from now until like three AM. Practice time!”

\--

\--

The newly restructured Diamond Rogue’s first practice with Louis did not go well at all. It started with Harry ignoring Louis and Liam eyeing Louis skeptically. Niall glared at his bandmates and Zayn judging everyone in the room.

Louis stretched with Niall and ran through his vocal warmups, touching the lower notes of his range and reaching the upper ones, showing off a little bit. Across the room, Harry was warming up with Liam; Aiden and Zayn were talking quietly.

When the whole group met up in the center of the room to start rehearsal proper, Zayn had Aiden’s mic in hand.

"You any good?" Zayn asked, flipping the microphone end over end, sending it in spinning arcs. He shot Louis a smug smirk. Louis shrugged.

"Decent enough," he replied, and let his own smirk show. Zayn tossed him the mic; Louis caught it and stepped into position.

The rest of practice was a total unqualified disaster. Either they weren’t clicking the way the record company had hoped or Harry was simply making it his life’s mission to make this practice as difficult as possible for Louis by pretending Louis didn’t exist. Either way, they ended up sounding like complete novices.

It wasn’t that anyone was missing notes; technically, it was an excellent run through. The problem was a lack of harmonies between them, a lack of the high energy that The Diamond Rogue was known for.

A frustrated Eleanor pulled first Harry aside and then Louis, giving them searing critiques that left Harry sullen and Louis baffled as to what to do and how to react.

The whole of the situation felt distinctly uncomfortable, and they all gave up half an hour in. Louis couldn’t figure out why--he’d hit his notes and his marks and everyone else had too, and though it was technically perfect, it wasn’t working.

Frustrated, they all called it quits for this time around. While the others packed up, Louis and Eleanor took it from the beginning of the show, Louis pushing himself through blocking again, with Eleanor tapping her foot and calling out the beats. It was a grueling hour and a half where Eleanor yelled and Louis moved, singing as he was supposed to.

It wasn’t until he was rehearsing their encore set that he realized that The Diamond Rogue had stayed in the room to assess his personal performance. Harry and Aiden were watching him from the far corner; Niall and Liam were sitting crosslegged against the wall, and Zayn was next to Paul, watching. He didn’t look at any of them and focused on Eleanor’s critique, dripping sweat and adrenaline humming through his veins.

Dismissed to shower and clean up, he headed back for the buses to grab his shower step. Someone fell into step beside him--Liam.

“I’m still pissed off,” Liam said, somewhat (or a lot) grudgingly, as if each word caused him physical pain. “But you’ve been putting in the effort. You’re not terrible.’

That was as close to a compliment as Louis was going to get for awhile; even so, he couldn’t resist pushing at it a bit. “Not that you could tell from that rehearsal.”

“You just put in four hours of work,” Liam shrugged. “That’s a lot of effort.”

“You seem to think I’m not taking this seriously.”

Liam regarded him with a closed off look. “Can you blame us?”

“Not really.” Louis turned and found the right exit to get out to the bus bay. “But why would I have blindly jumped in, either?”

“We did,” Liam said.

“There’s your catch, then.” Louis stopped in the middle of the parking lot, folded his arms and looked at Liam. “I’m not you. I’m not any of you.”

“You might’ve been. I remember you from auditions.”

“Yeah, well. Things have changed.” Louis climbed into the bus and fetched his shower things; when he emerged, Liam was gone.

He showered quickly and then found an unused space to spread out and review his notes. Maybe studying harder would work, maybe he could force this to succeed through sheer force of will.

Really though, Louis didn’t know what to do. This had to work, this had to click so that they could function as a band. If they weren’t--well. The next three years would be a nightmare for everyone involved.

“Your sad face is depressing me,” Aiden said, sitting at the table where Louis was flicking through his notes for the thousandth time. “So I’m here to fix that.”

Louis made a noise that fell somewhere in between _what, huh_ , and _hey_. Aiden laughed and pulled Louis’ binder over to his side of the table.

“And where were you when Niall was kicking my arse over this?” Louis asked crossly, scribbling angrily at a stage diagram.

“Not in the loop.”

“According to Eleanor you were.”

“I had suspicions, but no one confirmed anything.” Aiden found a clean sheet of A4 and started drawing hands, for some reason. “So, rehearsal.”

“It sucked? What more do we need to say about it?” Louis frowned at Aiden’s diagram. “What are you doing with that?”

“Look, your problem with rehearsal is that no one understands your new dynamic.”

“So?” Louis leaned forward, frowning.

“So, Harry is the leader. What you’re missing is communication. When I sang lead, Harry minds the crowd and the rest of us, and gives directions based off of what he sees. Which means if we’re going to do another chorus, he lets us know so I can sing the right bridge, and so Niall can play the right guitar part, that Liam can get the right drumbeat, that Zayn can find the right bassline.” Aiden finished his sketch with a flourish and pushed it across the table to Louis.

“I know that,” Louis said, staring at the new diagram in confusion. “Your point is?”

“Well, they’re not sure if you’re here to take the lead position and take over Harry’s job, if you’re only replacing me.” Aiden tapped the diagram. “These are Harry’s hand signals. If you can read them, you can fit right in. Simple as.” He leaned back, grinning. “You can thank me later.”

Louis frowned, trying to decipher the signals. “What’s this one, then?”

An hour later, Louis felt a lot stupider and understood a lot more. Aiden took a photo of the messy table on his phone. “See, you’re getting it.”

“I feel like it’s going to take more than just this.”

“You would not be wrong,” Aiden says lazily, typing something out. “But I will offer this advice: apologies go a long way, and Harry isn't very good at grudges.”

\--

 **@mrgrimshaw** : Busy day with the new guy!! _pic.twitter.com/sidO983/_ , lots of work to do!!  
 **@tommotwister** : work, work, work.

\--

Their next practice went better. Marginally. While they started to sound more and more like a cohesive unit and Louis was beginning to read Harry’s signals better, Harry and Louis still managed to get into a shouting match over a note Louis supposedly flubbed.

Eleanor hauled them apart by their ears. “Since you’re acting like toddlers, I’m treating you like toddlers. Niall, Liam, Zayn? Go get lunch while I deal with these idiots.”

Zayn hurried out of the room after setting his bass in the stand; Liam and Niall were a little slower to disentangle from instruments and leave their respective allies behind. Niall gave Louis a helpless look as he left; he yelped and scurried faster when Eleanor glared at him. Louis vaguely wondered why they were all listening to Eleanor, and then remembered she was scary as fuck when she was mad, and she was definitely mad now.

Harry shuffled awkwardly, avoiding looking at Louis; Louis stared at the floor, trying to ignore everything that was happening.

Eleanor cleared her throat and folded her arms across her chest. She stared the two of them down until they both looked up at her, faces red in embarrassment.

“I cannot fucking _believe_ I am doing this,” she said, tapping one foot. “But you are both acting like five year olds and so I am going to treat you like five year olds. Harry, go sit in that corner. Louis, that one over there. I’m setting a timer for five minutes--if I hear a single, solitary peep out of either of you, it’s another minute on the clock for every sound you make. You will think about your behaviour, and at the end of your time outs, you’d better be ready to act like adults and talk about how you’re going to work together, or so help me god I will find ways to make your lives more miserable than you can possibly imagine.”

When neither of them moved, she raised her eyebrows. “Six minutes on the clock, now. Sit. Down. Now.”

Sullenly, both of them went to sit in their respective corners.

“He started--”

“Eight minutes,” Eleanor said boredly, examining the nails on her left hand.

“But--”

“Nine.” She tapped at her phone, not looking at them.

Louis opened his mouth to protest again, and Eleanor stared him down, fingers freezing over the keyboard. “I literally have all afternoon to get you two chucklefucks to work together. Do you really want to spend more time than you have to in time out? Shut your goddamn mouth and start thinking about how to work together. Harry, that means you too.”

Louis sulked in his corner and spent the nine minutes plotting Harry’s murder in painful and creative ways.

“Can we come out now?” Louis asked, when the timer beeped. Aiden had come in and was whispering inaudibly to Eleanor now.

“You can come out when you act like grownups,” Eleanor said, turning away from her conversation. “I see two babies pouting at the wall and not trying to work together. Harry, you’re in the timeout chair for a _reason_. Stop sticking your tongue out at Louis, it’s just adding time. Louis, for god’s sake, turn around and face your corner or I’ll add another five minutes to your time. Like I said, I have all afternoon.”

After another three minutes, Eleanor called them to the center. Harry folded his arms and pouted sullenly; Louis made two sniping comments that earned them another ten minutes in time out. They repeated the process twice more before Eleanor got fed up with it.

“Right, this isn’t working,” Eleanor said, and grabbed Louis by the upper arm. Aiden was manhandling Harry over in their direction, which threw Louis for enough of a loop that he didn’t realize he was being pushed into a storage closet until Harry was shoved into him hard enough that both of them toppled to the floor. The door closed and clicked shut behind them;

“Let us out!” Harry yelled, pounding his fist on the door, speaking for the first time in over half an hour. Louis, for his part, felt for the hinges of the door and then decided to try to locate a screwdriver to possibly pull them out and break the door down.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Eleanor called back. “I’m having a sit down talk with Zayn, Aiden, Liam, and Niall. You have half an hour, and if you haven’t talked by the time I’m back, we’re getting Paul and we’re getting the record company on the line, and you two are going to have to explain exactly why we’re at risk to cancel the rest of a million-dollar tour because you two can’t share your toys.”

There was the sound of footsteps walking away as both of them burst into protests, then sunk into sullen silence when she didn’t reply.

“You have two settings, you know,” Louis said, when it had been quiet for a few minutes and had became apparent they really weren’t going to be let out until they had a serious talk. “Public face and private face. I kind of hate your public face.”

“What?” Harry sat down, moving so he was next to Louis, close enough he could feel Louis’ chest moving when he breathed.

“Your private face is, is, sweet, almost. You take care of Lux and write me songs, and you play FIFA and pout when you lose, and you’re wonderful then. As soon as anyone’s looking though, you reverse and turn into this...rockstar whose mission in life is to say the crassest things, I suppose. It’s hot, but it’s frustrating and weird when you do a total one-eighty in behaviour, and I hate it.”

“Doesn’t that apply to you too?” Harry asked, his shoulder bumping against Louis’ on a long exhale. Something was digging into Louis’ back; he shifted so it wasn’t and ended up leaning heavily into Harry’s space. “With you _lying_?”

“I was honest about who I was,” Louis said firmly. “I really am twenty-two. I really do love spicy red hot candies, Yorkshire tea, Every Avenue and Manchester United.” Harry scoffed at the mention of Man U, and Louis grinned, remembering the argument they’d gotten into a week or so before. “I really do play keyboard, I really did go to University of Manchester up until last spring, when I got this offer from my ‘boss.’” Harry couldn’t see the air-quotes Louis was undoubtedly making, but he could practically hear them in Louis’ voice. “I really do have four sisters, and I did date Hannah up until I was nineteen. Stan is really my best friend. The only difference between me now and me when you didn’t know I was the new lead singer is the fact that we’re co workers now rather than friends.”

Louis could hear the frown in Harry’s voice. “Isn’t that the problem?”

“Why would it be?”

“Can’t exactly date my bandmate, can I?” Harry asked, obviously not expecting an answer. “Especially not a new one. People’d say all sorts of shit, like you only got in because I was fucking you. Or I kicked Aiden out so my boyfriend could join. Or you only let me--you only dated me to get into the band.” He tipped his head back against the wall, feeling the cool solidity of the concrete. “I really like you, Louis. And I’d quite like to keep you. Just a little bit.”

“But you can’t. Not with our jobs.”

“Not for an album at least, and with this tour and us figuring out our new sound with you on board, that could be awhile.” Louis felt the regret and frustration in Harry’s voice; he slid his hand along the floor until he found Harry’s and held it tight, squeezing. He felt Harry’s breath hitch, and his hand squeeze back. “I almost wish you weren’t such a good fit, so I could have you. But you fit, and you sing so well, and.” He exhaled slowly. Louis imagined he was closing his eyes, the long lashes fluttering against his skin. “I don’t even know for sure if you want me the way I want you. Somehow you always manage to deflect.”

“I think…” Louis drew out the word, considering if it would be worth it to put his cards on the table. Harry’s hand was a reassuring weight in his, and he decided to go for it. “I think I want you, in every way I can have you.”

Harry’s reply was a choked off gasp.

“I want you in every way I can have you, but I didn’t let myself have it because I have a strict no-coworker policy. So I didn’t let myself have it, because it wouldn’t work out, and because you didn’t know.”

"So why, then?" he said, and it was tired and sad. "Why didn't you tell me?”

"I told you why," Louis replied, and he sounded equally tired. "You know why, and. I was scared, okay? Tell me you won't be scared in my place. Tell me that you don't think all of this, all of everything, wouldn't scare you off too?"

Harry didn't answer, just leaned over in the darkness and kissed Louis. "So you don't love her?"

"Is that what this is about? Are you serious?” Louis said, leaning back a little and laughing, his warm breath ghosting over Harry’s face in warm tendrils. “Harry. I’ve been in love exactly once in my life, and I promise you, it wasn’t with Eleanor Calder.”

“Is it with me?”

“Well, no.” Louis kissed Harry again, quick and soft, and electricity slid down Harry’s spine. “It could be, maybe. We’ve known each other four weeks, H. And most of that you spent hating me. No, I don’t think I love you.”

“But you like me.”

Louis laughed. “I do like you, as if it wasn’t blindingly obvious before. You wrote me a song, Harry Styles. A song I’m going to have to memorize in about four hours, because Eleanor and Niall are the drill sergeants from hell. I think I didn’t much have a choice after that.”

“So how the fuck is this going to work?”

“Niall--”

“Niall?”

“Yeah, Niall had a brilliant idea. We just don’t tell anyone.”

“Anyone at all?”

“Well. We tell the people who matter. But what right do anyone have to you and me?” Louis slid around so his knees were bracketing Harry’s, so they were face to face. He slipped his hands up Harry’s arms until he was cupping Harry’s face. “And if we break up...well, we’re adults, aren’t we?”

His breath ghosted over Harry’s face, making it hard for the younger man to think straight. “We can handle it.”

Harry leaned his head up just the slightest bit and their lips brushed, the both of them shuddering into the kiss. It was somehow better than either of them could have ever expected.

Louis sighed as Harry’s hands came up to hold onto his wrists, the cool metal of his rings pressing in between the hollows between Louis’ wrist bones.

They snogged then, fast and warm and it wasn’t gentle or harsh, somewhere in between. Louis learned a lot about Harry then, like how he liked a little teeth and a lot of tongue, how he got sloppy when Louis tangled his fingers into his curls.

The door handle clicking made them jump apart guiltily; light spilled into the closet, forcing both of them to cover their eyes and flinch back. Louis knew he looked a mess, with ruffled hair and reddened lips, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to care. A good snog tended to do that to him.

Eleanor and Aiden stood there, smirking at the two of them.

“Are we actually going to be able to get a full practice done today?” Eleanor asked. “Can we work together like good little boys?”

“Fuck off,” Harry said, good naturedly.

This time, when they set up at their positions for rehearsal, Louis carefully watched Harry out of the corner of his eye. As Liam clicked them into the first song, setting out the heartbeat that would thread through the entire show, something slid into place, and fast. Louis and Harry hit harmony with each other, running through the whole performance smoother than Louis would have thought possible a few hours before. During Harry’s solos, Louis was comfortable enough to lean against Niall and improvise a few harmonies that made the hair on his arms stand up; across the room, Aiden watched with the widest smile Louis had ever seen on his face.

Louis swung forward and reclaimed the center stage spot for their last song, and in the silence that followed the last clatter of Liam’s drums, Louis closed his eyes and exhaled, marvelling at how well that had gone.

There was a whoop and Niall launched himself forward, guitar and all, grabbing Louis in a hug. The techs, who had begun to sit in on the disastrous rehearsals, burst into a round of applause. Aiden was grinning smugly, Harry was bouncing on the balls of his feet; even Liam and Zayn looked impressed.

“This might actually work,” Eleanor said, ignoring Louis’ indignant noises as he went down, courtesy of a rogue Niall. “Just polish up stage manner and prove that that wasn’t a fluke.” She got up, smiled. “Good job putting aside your differences and managing to work together. Keep up the good work!”

\--

It took a week of rehearsals for Eleanor to be satisfied that everything was working out because they fit and not as a fluke; The Diamond Rouge boys were beginning to complain of sore vocal chords and arms from practicing so much on top of interviews and performing in concert nearly every evening. On an empty day, they sat down and worked out an arrangement for their _Punk Goes Pop_ contribution that worked for both Harry and Louis’ skill sets, depending on which way the band went. Louis managed to get fucking song stuck in his head and spent another two days humming it under his breath.

When Harry mentioned offhand that they were voting that afternoon, Louis stiffened from where he was curled into Harry’s bare shoulder. He waited until Harry disappeared into the hotel bathroom and then collected his clothes, slipping out of the room and into his own.

Louis showered and dressed in clean clothes, and caught a ride with Dan and Josh to the venue. The Diamond Rogue boys had a series of interview tapings that day; Eleanor would be pissed that Louis was skipping an “educational experience” but fuck it. Louis was nervous enough he thought he’d puke.

He honestly didn’t know what he hoped would happen. He knew that Liam and Zayn were more comfortable with him now, but Liam still held some sort of grudge over Louis leading them on and Zayn always held his cards close to his chest. Niall would vote for him, definitely; Aiden would probably vote for him, but he’d need Harry, and Harry could very well decide to choose a public relationship and a lead singer slot over Louis’ participation in the band.

Louis wound his way up to the roof and ignored his mobile’s consistent buzzing as Harry, Niall and Eleanor texted him, wondering where he was. He dug his notepad out of his bag and started sketching out lyrics for a song, with vague chord notations over the top. It was probably shit, but it was exactly how he felt and he lost track of time.

He startled when Niall put his hand on Louis shoulder.

“Well, come on,” Niall said. He held out his hand to help Louis up. “We’re voting.”

“Am I supposed to be there for that?” Louis swallowed his nervousness and shut his notebook. “Or is it private band business until results are disclosed?”

“Stop looking like I’m leading you to your death. You’re practically in. We’ve just got to make it official. Come on, we’re going to be late.” Louis allowed Niall to haul him up; they darted down the hallways and wound through a maze of shortcuts to find everyone else.

Louis followed Niall into the green room turned conference room, with an appropriated dining room table and mismatched chairs surrounding it. Harry had been watching the door worriedly; when Louis came in he gave a relieved smile that practically sang of nervousness. Eleanor stood at the head while Niall and Louis crashed into chairs.

“Alright, everyone.” Eleanor looked down the table, where all six of them were sitting. She and Paul were there at each end; 5 Seconds of Summer and various crew members were crowding around the door. “Here’s how this is going to work. In my hand, I have five slips of paper and one of Harry’s beanies. Everyone is going to write the name of their chosen lead--Harry or Louis--and then we’re going to put it in and count it out. Whoever gets simple majority fills the slot. As there are five of you, there shouldn’t be a tie; if someone abstains from voting and a tie happens anyone, Paul will vote and we’ll decide that way. Everyone clear?

There were five nervous nods, and one steady gaze at Eleanor.

“Any questions?” Paul asked, voice rumbling down the table. There was no reply, so he shrugged. “Alright. Let’s do this. Eleanor?”

Eleanor passed out the squares of paper and pens; everyone scribbled names and folded them in quarters, then dropped the slips into the hat. Louis held his breath and crossed his fingers under the table. Harry gave him a tight smile and a warm not; no one else would meet his eyes.

Eleanor took the hat into the other room, so no one could see who had voted for whom; it was a tense thirty seconds. When she came back, she was empty handed. Everyone stared at her, waiting for the verdict; she didn’t disappoint.

“Congratulations, Louis. Welcome on board.”

All the breath in Louis’ chest whooshed out in a big sigh; he collapsed back into his chair, tension leaving his body. Outside, the 5 Seconds of Summer boys whooped loudly, cheering. Niall leaned over and wrapped Louis in a hug.

“Nice job, man, I told you not to worry.”

Eleanor clapped her hands. “Now down to the nitty-gritty. Band roles. We can do this like normal, without the secrecy.” She sat down, and the crew dispersed. The 5SOS boys came and sat at the table with everyone else; Michael and Ashton both gave Louis hugs while Luke and Calum shot him thumbs-ups. “Who goes where?”

“Harry’s frontman,” Louis said immediately, looking to the others for approval.

“I second the motion,” Niall added, hand shooting up.

“Vote?”

Zayn, Liam and Harry all raised their hands; Eleanor nodded and scribbled on a piece of paper.

“Louis for keyboard and vocals?”

“We don’t really have anything keyboard in our current music,” Liam pointed out, leaning back in his chair and stretching out. “So there isn’t much he can play now.”

“But we’re writing a new album,” Harry said, lacing his fingers with Louis’ under the table. “So we put some in. Simple as. Louis?”

“I’m in if you lot are okay with it.” Louis squeezed Harry’s hand, allowing a smile to spread over his face. “Who’ll take over Aiden’s guitar parts, though? I really can’t.”

“Dan probably could fill in,” Zayn suggested.

“I could, for awhile,” Michael said, sitting up. “Give me a week and some chord notations.”

“It’s just backing guitar.” Aiden had taken Eleanor’s notepad and was sketching again. “It wouldn’t be hard for anyone to fill in, or, at worst case, we could play a recorded version.”

“No!” at least four people shouted.

Aiden blinked. “Well I’m still officially on tour until it ends,” he pointed out. He was giving Louis a knowing look, like he’d seen how Harry and Louis were holding hands under the table and thought it was adorable. “Set me up with a spare mike stand in the corner and I’ll do guitar while Louis does vocals. Simple as.”

They spent an hour negotiating out who would do what and how the rest of tour would work; 5 Seconds of Summer all had ideas and contributions, drawing on their experience from when Ashton had joined the band. Harry hooked his ankle around Louis’; Paul and Eleanor approved or vetoed every motion put forward, and they took enough votes to make Louis’ head spin.

“I’ll clear contracts with the record company,” Paul said, finally. “Hopefully we can go through someone other than Harvey Wellerman to do it.” Everyone was pushing out of their seats and gathering their belongings when Aiden looked at Eleanor.

“Just out of curiosity,” Aiden asked. “What was the vote total?” Everyone froze, darting glances between him and Eleanor.

She looked at him, an unreadable look in her eyes. “I’m not sure if I should reveal that.”

“Simple majority, right? He had at least three. Was it unanimous?”

“I don’t think that’s something you need to know.”

“I wouldn’t mind knowing,” Harry said.

Eleanor shook her head. “Four. Louis got four votes.”

“So one for Harry, then.”

“No, the fifth was blank,” Eleanor said, tapping her fingernails along the desk. Everyone stilled; only Aiden seemed unsurprised. “Someone waived their right to vote.”

Niall broke the ensuing silence with a clap. “Well, this calls for celebratory drinks. Anyone interested in going out for a pint or twelve?”

\--

“Why’d you do it?” Louis asked, sitting next to Aiden in the bar. It was loud, rowdy; Louis had only just managed to pull away from Teasdale, who’d smacked kisses to both of his cheeks and wished him the best of luck, cackling about how she hadn’t seen it earlier. “Not vote?”

“Wasn’t my place anymore, was it?” Aiden said, not even questioning how Louis had known it was him. “Harry was for you, Niall was for you; Liam would vote how Harry did, and Zayn likes you well enough.” He blew out a breath, fingers twitching as if we was reaching for a cigarette. “You were in, no matter what.”

“So why didn’t you just--”

“Vote for you?” Aiden smiled wryly. “Like I said. Weren’t my place. I’m not part of the band anymore--you’re part of it. And I was kind of hoping Liam might still distrust you, or Zayn might say no out of spite. Then you wouldn’t win, and…”

“And what?”

“Well. You and Harry could be together.”

“Aiden Grimshaw, are you telling me you’re a romantic, deep down in that stone cold hipster exterior of yours?”

Aiden stared at Louis, an unreadable look on his face. Finally, he burst out laughing.

“Oh, I really could not have picked a better replacement, oh my God,” he said. “Good luck with Harry. Maybe you’ll do better at being in love with him than I did.”

Louis froze, considering the implications of that.

“That makes a lot more sense, actually,” he said, blinking. “Why didn’t I consider that as a possibility?”

Aiden laughed. “Most people didn’t. It’s part of the reason I’m leaving--I’m engaged now, and it got messy when it turned out Harry had had a crush on me in our early days, but I pretended to be straight and shot him down, and then I went and got engaged to another man.”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up. “Are we sure this isn’t actually a soap opera?”

“Damn, you’ve caught on to my dastardly plan, I’ll have to break my engagement and stage a grand return to the band after exposing you as my evil clone hellbent on bringing The Diamond Rogue to ruination,” Aiden deadpanned, managing to keep a perfectly straight face.

Louis gaped at him, waiting for a punchline. It didn’t come.

“Are you--”

“Joking,” Aiden reassured Louis, solemn face cracking into laughter. “I am joking. The X-Factor was enough reality telly for my lifetime, thanks.”

“I swear, if you have cameras hidden around here somewhere--”

“I don’t, I promise,” Aiden said, absolutely cracking up. “I really, really don’t. Come on, let’s get you back inside. Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

“Shouldn’t you be plotting my murder?” Louis retorted, but he helped Aiden up.

“This round’s on me,” Aiden promised. “And Harry’s probably looking for you anyways.”

A grin spread across Louis’ face at the mention of Harry; Aiden grimaced. “Oh, god. Keep your mushy-gushy love all to yourself.”

“Oh, but you’re a romantic,” Louis cooed. “You gave up your vote so I wouldn’t get in so Harry and I could have a happily ever after. You love us, and the idea of us together.”

“I hate you and will be bribing the bartender to put something poisonous in your drink,” Aiden deadpanned. “Right. In we go.”

Back inside, Harry shot Louis a worried look over the top of his glass. Louis shook his head and smiled, and followed Aiden over to the bar.

\--

The announcement itself was filed at a stadium before a show, planned to be intercut with actual concert footage from the concert that night. People not in the know assumed it was a feature for Louis’ article; people in the know smirked and watched Louis with calculating eyes.

Louis had spent a sleepless weekend recording vocals for Molotov; that version had been remixed into a new version of the song, and that would be laid over the video and released as a single in one move.

The director, a man that The Diamond Rogue greeted with cheers and hugs, was named Ben Winston. He filmed them all playing their parts individually with wide sweeps of the camera lens. As a group he filmed them with Aiden in the front position, then with no one, and then with Louis.

“In editing, we’ll show each of the existing members,” Winston explained. “Get people excited with teasers. Then we’ll cut to Aiden at the mic, flicker him out of existence, and flicker you in, but in silhouette; then parts of you--hand on the mic, the lights, crowd shot, the rest of the band, you without illumination again, and we finish the clip with you looking directly at the camera. Dramatic, yes?”

“That doesn’t explain why you need a shot of my arse,” Louis said dryly.

“That would be Harry’s suggestion,” Winston said, laughing. “But it’s also for dramatic suspense--you, without your face being involved. It’ll be a rush job edit, but it’ll look nice.”

Despite Louis’ hesitations, the video turned out to be a smashing success: fan reaction to the promo videos was incredible; their reaction to finding out Louis’ identity was insane. Fans and paps alike bombarded the whole band with inquiries. For safety’s sake, all of them were banned from leaving the bus without security; Louis had a surreal experience when someone asked him for his autograph.

Everything started going by so quickly--interviews, photoshoots, fan encounters, rehearsals, recording--that when they finally reached Aiden’s last show and Louis’ first one, it was a shock.

Aiden took a shaky breath, staring at the stage where the 5SOS boys were hyping the crowd up, really getting into their set.

“Nervous?” Louis asked. Aiden shrugged. Behind them, Harry loomed closer, radiating unease and anger.

“Last show,” Aiden says. “Didn’t realize it was happening until it’s happening.”

“Hey, it’s both of us,” Louis said. He fiddled nervously with his IEM. “Your last, my first. We’ll do okay.”

“Have to do better than that,” Aiden said. He looked pale, nauseous. “You’ve got to make a first impression.”

“Oh, we’ll make an impression,” Louis said grimly. Everyone kept close as 5 Seconds of Summer finished their opening set. The crew was unusually quiet as they moved equipment off and onto the stage; the crowd was buzzing with nervous energy. This could either go very well or very poorly, and Louis was all too aware of that.

“We’re going to do fine,” Harry said, bringing them into a huddle and putting his hand in the center, reaching for contact with everyone else. Louis wordlessly put his hand on top of Harry’s; Aiden stacked his on top of Louis’, and everyone else piled their hands in. “They’re expecting a show; let’s give it to them.”

Louis tuned him out and began to psych himself up as Harry psyched the band up; when the countdown began, he was full of nervous energy and focused on converting that into positive energy for the show. Aiden opened the show explosively, giving what was possibly the best performance of his career. Whether it was because he was giving his all because he had nothing left to lose or because he wanted to go out with a bang, Louis didn’t know.

“Hang on,” Harry said suddenly. Everyone froze and look at him. “We can’t do our regular countdown, we’ve got someone new.”

“Yeah?” Aiden offered a shaky smile. “Can’t use ‘we can’ anymore?”

“How about ‘we push’?” Louis offered. “Like, we’re pushing on to be better, regardless of what people think.”

“Brilliant,” Zayn said.

“I’m for it,” Liam added. Niall and Harry nodded and everyone piled their hands in.

“Three, two, one: we push!” they yelled together, and got into position, waiting to get on stage. The show kicked off not long later, the five of them giving a hell of a show. Aiden’s voice was steady and strong--to the untrained ear, he sounded like his normal self.

Louis waited. Michael and Luke came to stand with him, reassuring presences against the nervousness. He focused on his breathing and what he knew, that Hannah would be watching from an illegal online feed if she could, that the techs were rooting for him, and the things he thought he knew about performing. As he focused on clearing his mind and preparing himself, all he really knew for certain was that when it was his turn to step onto the stage, he was absolutely ready.

Dan gave him a reassuring smile from the wings of the stage, and as Niall hit the opening chords, Louis charged headlong into the performance and prayed it wouldn’t go too terribly. He’d enter with Molotov, the song Niall had drilled him on repeatedly; it was Louis’ best and therefore the best choice to introduce him with. It was also one of the hardest songs in the set and one of the highest energy, and switching singers at this point in the show was a risky move.

Aiden slid aside so Louis could take front position at the mike stand; the crowd roared with excitement as Louis led them into the bridge. There was the flash of a few thousand cameras scrabbling to get shots of the new lead singer; Louis knew his entire career balanced on this one song, his first impression on these fans, of which at least four would record this performance and post it to the internet, where it would disseminate into the greater fanbase. This was his one shot at convincing them he could do this, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to give it his all.

They had planned for Aiden to provide harmonies and assistance through the song if Louis started to flag or slipped up. They didn’t need it. It didn’t hurt that every member of the Diamond Rogue was giving the show of their lives; Niall’s fingers flew over his fretboard as he soared through the guitar part, Liam pounding along behind them. Zayn and Harry moved back to back and played off of each other, setting up the song for success, harmonising with and accompanying Louis’ searing vocals.

“This is my mate, Louis,” Aiden shouted, barely audible over the roar of the crowd when the song came to it’s end. “He’ll be singing for you, sound good?”

There was no hesitation as the crowd screamed; Aiden stepped back and let Louis take over.

\--

Harry and Louis stumbled off the stage together, dizzied by the crowd’s reaction and drunk off of performing. Niall, sweaty and mussed, practically danced after them, crashing into Eleanor and spinning her around, her long hair streaming out as they whooped loudly, cheering their success. Liam and Zayn weren’t far behind the rest of them, Zayn having waited for Liam to disentangle from the drum kit. Aiden was already off the stage, cheering with the crew who had watched from the side of the stage.

“That was insane,” Louis gasped out, reaching out for hugs and contact with anyone, everyone. The 5 Seconds of Summer boys were screaming, yelling; there was a cameraman recording the chaos, and Louis didn’t care. They had a hotel tonight, so no one bothered showering at the venue; they all changed into street clothes, still buzzing from the show. Niall and Louis chattered loudly, Harry drifting away to greet someone and always returning to Louis; Aiden and Eleanor were barely able to stop laughing as they piled into vans that would take them to the hotel.

There were paparazzi desperate to get photos of any of the band but Louis and Aiden especially, hungry for some sort of crack in the band. Louis mentally flipped them off and swore they’d never find those cracks; he’d never felt like more of a unit with anyone else than he did in that moment.

Harry crammed in close to Louis in the back of the van, the two of them in the far back seat. His hand slid up Louis’ thigh, searing hot heat. It probably should have felt like an excruciatingly long ride back to the hotel, but somehow it flew by in the blink of an eye and they were piling out, pushing through paparazzi and curious fans to pile into an elevator.

Harry kept in close to Louis, pressing his chest to Louis’ back, wrapping his arms around Louis and holding his palms to Louis’ hips.

“What is _wrong_ with you two?” Zayn asked, leaning against the wall and sniggering.

“Oh, they’re going to shag,” Liam said airily.

“Well, then.” Zayn slung his arm around Liam’s shoulder and put on a straight face. “As your bandmates, we feel a, hm, parental and responsible love for us and thus assume the responsibility to--”

“Oh fuck off!” Louis shouted, causing Zayn’s straight face to dissolve as he and Liam clutched at each other, chortling.

“Be safe!” Niall cackled, fishing in his pocket and throwing something at Harry, who caught it. When he opened his hand, it was a condom packet; Harry threw back his head and roared with laughter. Louis couldn’t help but laugh along even as he gave Niall the stink eye. The elevator opened and they stumbled out onto their floor; other hotel residents probably thought they were drunk. Louis felt drunk as he fumbled for his room key.

Eleanor had assigned Harry and Louis to share a room, and--cheekily enough--had only booked a one-bed room. Earlier, Louis had rolled his eyes at Eleanor’s matchmaking attempts. Now, he couldn’t think of a single reason why this wasn’t the best thing to happen ever in the history of the world.

They were barely in the room and out of range to hear the others’ catcalls when Harry pressed Louis against the wall, kicking the door shut.

“Fuck, I want to touch you right now,” Harry said, his body just an inch away from Louis’, hands braced on the wall above Louis’ head.

“So touch me,” Louis breathed, and arched up off the wall, bringing them into contact.

They managed sexy for all of thirty seconds, until Louis’ back cracked and Harry doubled over, howling with laughter.

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis said, leaning back and twisting to crack his spine again.

“I plan on fucking _you_ ,” Harry said with his horrible snorting laugh. “Does that count?”

Louis sighed dramatically. “I guess it’ll have to do.”

Harry tugged at the hem of Louis’ shirt, pulling it over Louis’ head;  Louis fiddled with the buttons on Harry’s shirt and flicked them open, one by one. Harry shrugged it off his shoulders, moving in for another kiss and managing to brush against Louis’ sensitive and ticklish side with his cold hands. Louis flinched, startled, barely holding back a giggle.

“What’s so funny this time?” Harry asked, but he was giggling too. Their adrenaline highs were wearing off, but this was equally intoxicating, the two of them and a hotel room, the world at their feet.

“You are,” Louis said, sniggering into another kiss. He slid his hands up Harry’s sides, in awe that he got to touch and hold, that he’d gotten everything in the end.

“Bed?” Harry asked, sucking a lovebite into the skin just under Louis’ ear. His mouth was warm and velvety-soft, the rough of his stubble a harsh contrast against Louis’ skin.

“Bed,” Louis agreed, and they navigated their way across the room. Harry sank onto the soft hotel mattress and Louis followed, bracing himself over Harry on his forearms. Louis expected everything to advance quickly then, but instead they slowed down, snogging with Harry’s hands kneading at Louis’ arse, Louis’ fingers tangled in Harry’s curls.

When Louis pulled back to breathe, he watched the delicate flutter of Harry’s eyelashes against his skin and the blotchy red blush across his cheeks. They both probably stunk something horrible, sweat dried against their skin, but Louis couldn’t bring himself to care. His hand slipped down to press at the hinge of Harry’s jaw, and Harry’s mouth dropped open, tongue flicking out. Louis could feel Harry’s pulse from here, racing, just from this, just from snogging. The air conditioner kicked on the background, the low hum filling the room.

Deciding to speed things up, Louis ground down on Harry, still in his trackies and not particularly caring that they were acting like teenagers.

“Fuck, fuck, wait. Lube.”

Louis snorted. “Go get it, then.”

Harry swore and rolled out from under Louis, scrabbling for his suitcase. Louis took advantage of the still moment to push off his trackies and palm at his erection. Triumphantly, Harry produced his sex bag, the zippered case that contained his condoms and lube. Harry whinged the bag at Louis and followed after, attempting a grand leap onto the bed and nearly missing.

“Oh, fuck. Hang on.” Harry fumbled with first the zippered case and then the lube, the tacky tube tumbling from his grip twice. Louis pointed at him and laughed, and didn’t try to help--he’d learned the second time around that a) Harry wasn’t as smooth as he pretended to be, and b) he would pout if Louis tried to point that out. He teased him about it until Harry pouted and Louis had to kiss that off of his face. Harry was still standing and was bend rather awkwardly, trying to kiss Louis and uncap the lube at the same time; Louis tried to help by tugging Harry closer by his belt loops. It didn’t quite work, as Harry managed to trip and land on top of Louis, whacking his hand on the nightstand and howling in pain.

Louis was fairly certain people in the know about their relationship thought they were having marvellously kinky sex considering the amount of bruises and tender spots they ended up with. The truth was that they were both clumsy as was humanly possible: their bruises came from tripping and falling over each other, from bumping into things. While Harry nursed his sore hand, Louis unbuttoned his trousers, fiddling with the zip until Harry swore and paid attention to him.

Harry finally managed the lube and took both their cocks in hand, providing slick and a much-needed touch to their aching cocks. Louis arched up into it, moaning quietly. Harry sighed contentedly and rolled them over--and they tumbled onto the floor together.

“God fucking damnit,” Louis swore at the same time that Harry groaned and thumped his head on the floor. “Seriously?”

“We are absolutely not having success in this whole sexy thing,” Harry said. “So, uh. Sex?”

“Blowies?” Louis suggested.

“Oh, you’re brilliant,” Harry said, and rolled them over. Louis’ laughter was lost to the pillows they’d dragged down with them.

\--

Louis’ first show on his own, without Aiden running half the show, came two weeks later, back in LA.

They huddled together, listening to the crowd countdown; they piled their hands in the center, seeking contact. Harry was saying something, some message of support, but Louis was tuning him out, running through the tricky bits of the show in his head. He was styled now, by Teasdale and the band’s official stylist, Caroline. Apparently his clothes weren’t proper rockstar before but now they were, tight, brightly colored skinnies and black graphic tees, comfortable shoes with good support, a mike pack bandaged to his lower back.

Liam was a steady reassuring presence, the heartbeat of the group; Zayn was intense focused energy in a way he only was when performing; Niall was the bright brilliant joker, the melody and the design for every part of their show; Harry, whose presence commanded and ran the show; and Louis, who lent his voice and led the crowd as best he could. He knew Hannah and Stan were in the crowd, and he knew there were thousands of people there to see him, and it was amazing and nerve wracking all at once.

They circled up tight and listened for their cues, bursting onto the stage as a unit, their song loud and powerful. The chords thrummed through Louis’ body as he belted out the bridge and the crowd’s energy surged as they joined him for the chorus. The energy was so infectious, Louis found himself bubbling over with the desire to laugh and leap around the stage, but the song was ending far too soon with a crash of cymbals.

He threw his arms up, hyping the crowd up. "Heyyoo!" he called, and the fans responded with a not insignificant amount of screaming. Louis didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, and hoped he never did. "So!"

He made quieting noises with his hands and the crowd hushed down as much as it ever did. "Welcome to the show. We are The Diamond Rogue and we're glad to have you here tonight!" a wave of cheering came towards them. “I'm Louis Tomlinson, vocalist and pianist-slash-keyboardist. I’ll be singing for you tonight but talking isn’t my job, so if you don't recognize our frontman and rhythm guitarist, you've been living under a rock for the past two years. Give it up for Mr Harry Styles!"

“Welcome to the show!” Harry said, shaking his head and pushing his curls back. His voice was pitched to carry even without the assistance of the mic and he spoke steadily and clearly. “Now, LA, we’ve been here before and you set a pretty high bar to clear for crowd participation; let’s see if you can scream loud enough they’ll hear it back home in England!”

The crowd obliged; Louis’ ears were ringing even through the tight seal of his in-ears.

“Now! Give a cheer for our incredible drummer, Mr Liam Payne!" Liam pounded out a steady beat, providing a backing track to Harry’s introduction and the screaming of the crowd. At the mention of his name, he showed off with a fast pattern and a crash of cymbals. "The one, the only, the talented lead guitarist and songwriter, Mr Niall Horan!" Even Niall's guitar riff managed to be smug, and Louis grinned through it. Harry couldn't help but grin along as well.

"To my left, the irreplaceable bassist, Mr Zayn Malik!" Zayn gave a grin and saluted the crowd, giving a joking bow to Harry.

Harry grinned cheekily at the crowd, knowing his face was being broadcast on the big screens when the screaming ratched up a notch or twelve. “You’ve met me, and you’ve met Tommo here, so who wants to get this show started?”

The crowd roared, Liam started the pounding drumbeat, and Harry beamed so brightly Louis could feel the warmth of it from across the stage. Louis’ heart leaped into his mouth and settled in his chest, a spark of nervousness and a pure jolt of energy surging into his veins. The lights flashed; Louis pulled his microphone from its’ stand and gave Niall a high five as he passed by, crossing the stage and calling it his own.

The intro to _Never Settle For Less_ was bright and beautiful, the sound of it rumbling in his bones.

Louis tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and sang.

**Author's Note:**

> Holy fucking shit we're actually posting this, goddamn. I've been working on this since August, and it's finally finished. This thing took a fucking army of people to get it off the ground. Actually, it took a fucking army of ladies to get this thing going and make these idiot boys look less stupid. Thanks to the lovely Pan, who cheerleaded and got my plots in order and helped me figure out that yes, Aiden Grimshaw and Louis Tomlinson could, in fact, switch vocals if need be; to the wonderful Emily, who provided a basic soundtrack to help me get the Diamond Rogue’s sound set; to Mikayla, who read and edited and clarified on the confusing bits; to Vanessa who helped me figure out the band name; to Taylor, who got me stuck on the idea and gave me the title; to Chewy and Jess, who put up with my inane lunchtime ramblings as I raced to hit deadlines so this thing would actually get finished; and of course, the brilliant, sexy Marta, who made the gorgeous art you see within the story.
> 
> The title comes from the idea that any route Louis takes will be settling for less, and that in order for him to be happiest, he can't settle for anything, he has to have it all. The idea here is that if he chose Harry, he'd been settling for a relationship and giving up his passion for music; if he chooses the band, he'd be giving up a potentially life-changing relationship. The same goes for Harry, for Aiden: no matter what they choose, they're settling for something, giving up something in exchange for what they will receive. The conclusion--Harry and Louis being together and having the band, is truly not settling for less. Which I think is pretty much how they are IRL. xD
> 
> Anyway, leave a comment, feel free to follow me (dormilonaluna) or Marta (lepomiere) on tumblr (and go tell her how amazing her art is, because seriously, it IS!!!), and come chat with us about our individual roles. Thanks!!! :)


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